


To Die and Live for You

by ThePurpleFrog



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Suicide, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePurpleFrog/pseuds/ThePurpleFrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a cynic, a drunkard, and cares not for revolution. That being the case, why is he always with Enjolras and the others at the ABC Cafe? What does he have to gain?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting at the ABC Cafe

It was nighttime, and after a long day of protesting in the streets, the members of the revolution and Les Amis de l’ABC were gathered at the ABC Café, drinking and winding down for the day. Everyone was sitting at tables, talking with one another, laughing, having an overall good time- everyone except for two people. There was Enjolras who was tapping his fingers restlessly on the tables, glaring at nothing. But this was not unusual. Though he was the leader of their revolution, the one with hopes for change, he was still very strict and stern when it came to anything and everything. He sat alone with no drink in hand, a couple of guns and some flags laid on the table in front of him. Everyone knew why he was discontent. Marius was late. Enjolras needed order and teamwork to start a revolution, and he could not have someone like Marius taking his time coming to their meetings. The other out of place person was Grantaire. However, this wasn’t new either. Grantaire was always out of place here. Sure, he was popular enough with everyone there, but he rarely participated in anything. Nine times out of ten he was drunk, and nobody had seen him sober in a long while. No one knew for sure why he drank. Maybe it was because of his cynical nature; he needed a drink to lighten up. Maybe it was because he liked alchol more than the average man. Maybe it was stress. Everyone knew that revolution was in the air, and with General Lamarque sick and dying, who knew how long it would be until the people would revolt? Most people were excited, Enjolras especially. This had been something he had dreamt about for as long as anyone could remember. As for Grantaire, he seemed a little distraught about it. He was a pessimist and figured that everyone was doomed. That being the case, why was he still here? Everyone knew he admired Enjolras, but to what extent? They all figured that he’d leave before any revolutionary action was taken.   
Enjolras stood up and began to talk of revolution and their plans, disregarding the fact that Marius was not there.   
“The time is near.” Enjolras said, standing up. “Do not let the wine go to your brains.” He glared at Grantaire as he said this, who proceeded to smile and wave back. Enjolras rolled his eyes and continued. “We need a sign, to rally the people, to call them to arms, to bring them in line!” At that moment, Marius walked in, looking pale and distraught. “Marius, you‘re late.” Enjolras snapped. Marius ignored him and sat down at a table. Grantaire rolled his eyes at him.   
“Marius, what‘s the matter?” Jean asked. “You look as if you‘ve seen a ghost.” Grantaire smiled, seeing this as a chance to make fun of Marius and distract Enjolras.  
“Come on, Marius. Some wine and say what‘s going on.” Grantaire said, passing him a bottle.  
“…A ghost, you say?” Marius muttered half-heartedly, gazing dreamily at the bottle. “She was just like a ghost to me. One minute there and she was gone.” Enjolras was getting noticeably irritated, and Grantaire grinned and took this opportunity to gossip with Marius.  
“I am agog, I am aghast!” He said, taking a swig of liquor. “Is Marius in love at last?” For a few moments, the ABC Café was in a happy argument. Constantly the intoxicated members of the café switched from focusing and singing of revolution to singing of Marius and his somewhat rushed love life. The entire time, Grantaire’s eyes did not leave Enjolras. He smirked and laughed as Enjolras grew more and more frustrated with the drunken group. He looked about ready to snap when suddenly Grantaire leaped up and headed for the door. Gavroche was there.   
“I have news.” Gavroche said.  
“Gavroche, we‘re a bit busy at the moment.” Grantaire said.   
“Let the boy speak.” Enjolras said, glaring at Grantaire.  
“But-”  
“General Lamarque is dead!” Gavroche shouted. The room which moments ago was filled with joyous laughter grew silent. Everyone stared at Gavroche solemnly, except for Grantaire who stumbled back to the table to his bottle.   
“Lamarque?” Enjolras said finally. “His death is the hour of our fate. The people‘s man! On his funeral day they will honor his name!” Enjolras started shouting again, relaying the plan for the revolution on eager ears. Only Marius and Grantaire remained silent, Marius sulking from his lost love and Grantaire rolling his eyes at the naïve talk of revolution.   
After the meeting was over and everyone had begun filing out, Enjolras pulled Grantaire aside for a talk.  
“Grantaire.” He said curtly, placing his hand firmly on Grantaire’s shoulder.  
“Yes, that‘s me.” Grantaire replied, a smug look on his face. He had had quite a few more drinks after Enjolras had begun his revolution speech, and was completely intoxicated.   
“Grantaire, pay attention.” Enjolras said. Grantaire made eye contact with him, but still looked cloudy and unfocused. “Look, Grantaire, I do not mind your company. In fact, I consider you a friend. But if you continue to pull these games I will have no choice but to ask you to leave, do you hear me?”  
“If I had a franc for every time you told me that…” Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras had no memory of saying this to him before, but it would be no surprise if the drunkard was told this by someone else.  
“Regardless, Gavroche had important news!” Enjolras continued, “you had no right to interrupt him like that.”   
“Well, he had no right interrupting our fun.” Grantaire protested. Enjolras sighed. There’d be no use arguing with him tonight.   
“Fine, just…” Enjolras let go of him and turned away. “Just be careful, alright? Your drinking is getting out of hand.”  
“I‘m fine.” Grantaire protested. “Believe me, if you were in my situation, you‘d be a drunkard too.” Enjolras wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was Grantaire really living in such a hell that he needed to drink all of his troubles away? The man always seemed carefree. Cynical, but for the most part joyous. Maybe that was just the liquor giving him a good time. Either way, he had no idea why Grantaire would be miserable enough to drink like that. He would ask, but he had far too much to do at the moment. Lamarque was dead and he had a revolution to start in just a few hours. As he had said before, “our little lives mean nothing at all”. He would see to it that Grantaire was consoled at a later time.   
“Do you know when and where we will be meeting tomorrow?”  
“I‘m drunk, not deaf.” Grantaire replied.  
“Well… alright. See to it that you are no longer in this childish mood tomorrow, is that clear?”  
“I‘ll see what I can do.” With that, Enjolras went on ahead, leaving Grantaire alone.


	2. Éponine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finds Éponine alone, and decides to listen to her sad tale.

Grantaire was wandering around in the alleyways near the ABC café all alone. Where would he go? On a normal day, he’d head home. However, it was not a normal day. The revolution was coming up in about a day, maybe less, and he needed time to think and plan on his own.   
He found himself in an unfamiliar alley, the place deserted due to the rain. It was pouring that night. He hardly cared that he was getting soaked; he had more to change into at home. Besides, with death so near, who cared if he got his clothes wet? It wouldn’t change his inevitable death the next day. He sat down in one of the doorways of a closed shop. He pulled out his bottle and was about to take a swig of the thing when he heard a sound. It was the sound of whimpering. He recognized the voice. It was Éponine, Marius’ best friend. She was kind enough, he supposed. He had had a few conversations with her, but they consisted mostly of small talk in passing. He got up and walked to where she was. She was sitting alone on another doorstep, her hand clutching her cheek. She was completely soaked; her old dress clinging to her skin, her hair was dark and stuck to her face, her face was soaked too, but Grantaire was unsure if it was just from the rain or if tears helped contribute as well.   
“Éponine?” Grantaire asked. She looked up at him for a moment, a confused look on her face.  
“Yes?“ She asked. “Pardon, but do I know you?”  
“Yes… well, no. In a way.” Grantaire stumbled on his words, still incredibly intoxicated. She looked unconvinced until she noticed the badge he wore on his green vest.  
“You‘re one of Marius' friends.” She stated.  
“I… yes, I am.”   
“What is it you would like with me?” She said curtly. “You want another member for your revolution? I'm already planning on going… as long as Marius doesn‘t elope with that girl he just met.”  
“No, I am not a recruiter,” he said. “That would be Enjolras.”  
“The one in the red coat, I‘m guessing?”  
“That‘s him.” Grantaire could feel a smile growing on his face at the very mention of him.   
“Well what is it, then?” She asked, sounding a bit irritated. “I need to prepare for tomorrow.”  
“You didn‘t seem in much of a hurry before I began talking to you.” She glared at him. “Éponine, are you hurt?”  
“It’s…” she hesitated for a moment. “none of your concern.” For a moment he tried thinking up a response, but had none. Instead he just held out his bottle.  
“I think you need it more than I.” She stared for a moment, then snatched the bottle from him and took a quick gulp. She finally removed her hand from her cheek, revealing faint but noticeable red mark. “What‘s your name?” She asked quickly, trying to get his attention on something else.  
“Grantaire.” He said.   
“Alright.” She said. “Grantaire, what is it that you desire with me?”  
“Company, I suppose.” Grantaire answered honestly. What had he to hide? “The night is young, and I have nothing better to do.”  
“Shouldn‘t you be preparing for the revolution with your friend?”  
“Shouldn‘t you be preparing for the revolution with Marius?” Her head snapped up at his name. She glared at him. Grantaire, like many of the people that had been around Éponine for more than five seconds, was aware that she was in love with Marius. When they were together, Éponine would always be staring at him, her eyes wide and longing. Whenever he spoke to her, her face would light up and a grin would cross her face. Whenever he touched her, even if it was as minor as brushing her arm with his sleeve, she’d stop dead in her tracks. It seemed the only person unaware of Éponine’s affections was Marius himself. He was a bit oblivious when it came to things like this. Almost as oblivious as-  
He was ripped from his thoughts when he heard the sound of whimpering again. He looked down to find Éponine clutching the bottle tightly, her face contorted in a way that would prevent tears from falling.   
“That was rude of me.” Grantaire admitted.  
“Yes, it was.” She said. “But you are not nearly as rude as Marius.”  
“…I'm not?” Grantaire asked, genuinely perplexed. Grantaire was well-known as the ABC café’s cynic. He was a comedian, who would not hesitate to make jokes at the expense of others. How in the world was he kinder than Marius, the good little rich boy?  
“I called Marius out of the meeting today. You saw that, right?”   
“Yes.” That was a lie. He wouldn’t have noticed Marius’ departure at all if it weren’t for Enjolras glaring in his general direction when he left.  
“He had requested earlier that I find a girl for him… that blonde, pretty one, Cosette.” Though she was using kind words to describe her, Éponine’s tone sounded harsh and was spoken with frustration. She handed the bottle back to him, and he took a sip.  
“Ah yes, that famous girl. Marius didn’t even know her name.” Grantaire said with a grin. “He won‘t stop talking about her.”  
“I _know.”_   Éponine replied fiercely. “He‘s…” She hugged her knees and let out another sigh.  
“In love with her.” Grantaire finished. “I know. Enjolras about killed him today when he wouldn‘t stop going on about her.”  
“It just doesn‘t make sense.” Éponine continued. It sounded as if she were talking to herself instead of him. “All he did was look at her, for maybe ten seconds at the most. And now he‘s going on about how he can‘t live in a world without her. I‘ve been here the entire time. For years I‘ve watched him, and never have I gotten a word of affection in return.” She looked up and seemed to remember that Grantaire was there. “I‘m sorry, this must make no sense to you.”  
“No, I understand why you‘re grieving.” He responded. “I‘d be devastated too.”  
“It‘s not over yet.” Éponine continued. “I saw my father… he was going to rob that girl‘s house. I… didn‘t want anything to happen to her, for the sake of Marius. So I screamed. Father got mad and he…” Grantaire handed her the bottle again. She definitely needed it more than him. She gladly took another large gulp. “Cosette‘s father… he was scared for some reason. Either way, he and Cosette left in a hurry. She left a note behind for Marius.” She pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper with neat handwriting on it. “She loves him back.”  
Grantaire just stared at her, unsure of what to say. Of all the years he’s been with Enjolras and Marius, he had only known Éponine in passing. She was the girl that trailed behind Marius, smiling at him whenever they spoke, and gazing at him from afar whenever he was with someone else. How had he never noticed it until now? They were both quite similar, were they not? Éponine was in love with a man who didn’t see her. They had spent years together yet he had never once noticed the way she smiled at him or the way she lightened up as soon as he neared her. It astounded him how oblivious Marius could be. He sang of his petty love during a revolution meeting, when tension was high with the ailing health of General Lamarque. That takes either guts or stupidity, and for Marius it was the latter. He was oblivious. A good man, but oblivious nonetheless.   
Then there was Enjolras. He was always focused and always alert. For him, there was no time for frivolities and daydreams. His dedication was admirable. However, he was so dedicated to his cause that nothing else ever seemed to get past him. It’s not that he was unkind or did not care for his friends, it’s just that he saw things in a broader way. Everyone must work together for a higher goal, or nothing would be done at all. Therefore, until the goal was reached, there was no time for individual issues. A man like Enjolras would hardly have the time for someone like Grantaire, as much as he wished it.   
“It‘s cold out.” Grantaire finally said. “It looks as if they rain will not be stopping for awhile.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Do you need a place to stay for the night?”  
“What…?” She stared at him, perplexed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”  
“Why not?” He replied. “We‘re all going to die tomorrow, so I might as well make a new friend.”  
“You seem rather intent on dying.” She said.   
“It's my fate. No point in pretending it‘s not.” He said. She eyed him curiously. _He does not seem like a bad man_ , she thought. _He’s pessimistic and drunk, but he does not seem treacherous._   
“Alright. I have no where else to go.” She finally said. She got up and walked with him as the rain continued pouring down.


	3. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine goes home with Grantaire and learns that there is quite possibly more to the drunkard than what meets the eye.

Grantaire lived in a small, rather shabby apartment not too far from the ABC café. The walls were white and barren with a few windows here and there. There were a few pieces of furniture, but they were random and unkempt. The floor was covered with empty bottles, as well as papers with cluttered handwriting on it.   
“Welcome.” Grantaire said. “It‘s... a bit of a mess at the moment.” He felt a little embarrassed. He had forgotten just how unorganized he was. Éponine walked in, unfazed by the mess.   
“Did you ever see the place my parents used to run?” Éponine asked. “This is nothing.”   
“I‘ve got some spare clothes in the bedroom. Door on the right.” Grantaire said.   
“Thanks.” Éponine went forward, still a little confused as to why this stranger was being so kind to her. Kindness like this was something she felt seldom from the people she was closest to, so why would this man be so generous? She took advantage of it regardless. She walked into the bedroom and found a thin mattress on the floor with a couple of blankets thrown about, beside it was an empty chair with chipped wood. Across the room was a dresser, so she went over there and opened it up. The first drawer was filled with bottles. _Must he always be drinking?_   Éponine wondered. _It could be worse._  Her father was a drinker, but when he was drunk he was angry. It seemed Grantaire was still sane whilst drunk. The second drawer was filled with muskets. _Well, he is a part of the revolution_ , she figured. The last drawer had some plain clothes in it. _There we go._

* * *

 

In the other room, Grantaire collapsed in a chair. It had been a long day, as usual, and he was stressed. Tomorrow was the revolution. Tomorrow was also the day he was going to die. He thought of his friends at the ABC Café, the friends who would all likely be dead tomorrow. _Enjolras… do you not realize you’re standing in your grave?_   He shook his head. _No, Grantaire, you need to focus. You have to help, you have to help save him at all costs._ He sighed and looked away. _But… what is the point? If the others fall, he would rather fall along with them. He would fall for his country, instead of being the sole coward who survived. You know that._ Grantaire got up and opened the cupboard. Inside were rows of bottles. He pulled one out and opened it.   
“It‘s my last night, so why not?” He was about to take a swig when he heard a sound coming from the other room. It was Éponine, her voice muffled from the closed door.  
“One more day I‘m on my own…” She said. “One more day with him not caring…” He placed the bottle down and listened. “What a life I might have known… but he never saw me there…”  
 _Poor girl_ , he thought. _She really is like me, is she not?_   He took a gulp, not feeling anything as it went down his throat. _Why is she here for Marius? There’s nothing for her here anymore. I could try to get her to save herself, but what is the point? She will only refuse. Poor girl, doing all she can for a man that cannot see her. She deserves some warmth before her death._ He took another gulp and sighed.  
“What am I going to do?” He asked himself. “He is going to die tomorrow… I should have prepared sooner. An idiot, that‘s what I am… He‘s going to die… and I can‘t stop him…”

* * *

Éponine awoke to the sound of breaking glass. She was in an unfamiliar place. She looked around at the dingy walls and the messy blanket and remembered: she had gone home with Grantaire that night. She must have drifted off after changing, after all, it had been a long, emotional day for her. But what was that sound? She stood up, trying to find her way in the darkness. She eventually found the door and headed out.   
She found Grantaire on the floor, a mess. He was surrounded by papers and bottles. He was slumped over, having fallen asleep after having too much to drink. He must have fallen asleep mid-drink, because the bottle near his hand was shattered. Éponine crouched down and shook him.  
“Wake up.” She said. “Wake up!” Many times before she had seen people die of too much to drink at her parents’ inn. How they managed to stay in business for so long she’d never know. Grantaire’s eyes fluttered opened, glazed over and sleepy.   
“Oh… ‘ponine you‘re ‘ere…” He mumbled, smiling at her.   
“Grantaire, what is all this?” She asked, concerned. “You‘re a mess… are you alright?”  
“I‘m fine…” He finally noticed the broken, spilled bottle on the floor. “It didn‘t get on any of the papers, right?”  
“No… but your arm…” Some of the glass shards had pierced his arm, leaving a few cuts.  
“It‘s nothing,” He mumbled. “Thanks for waking me.” He sat up and collected the papers up.  
“You‘re still in those soaked clothes.” Éponine said, kneeling beside him. “You need to change, get some rest… I‘ll help you up…” She grabbed his arm, only to be pushed away.   
“No… I don‘t ‘ave time for that.” Grantaire argued, gathering up more papers.  
“What in the world could you be doing? It is far past midnight now. You have plenty of time to-” She grabbed his arm more aggressively than she intended, knocking the papers out of his hand. She hurried to grab them, and found them filled with confusing, cluttered notes.  
‘ _the window is four feet away from where the guards will be standing no matter what he will get killed theyre too close theres too many of them he will be killed he will be killed I cant stop it they all have bayonets and theres twelve men in the room is that really fair twelve men with guns against one weaponless man its not fair its too cruel how could they-'_  
Grantaire snatched it out of her hand.   
“…Sorry.” She finally said, confused by what she had read. He looked at the paper, then crumpled it up and threw it to the floor.  
“Not an ‘portant one.” He stated blandly, searching for more papers. _There’s no use talking to him now_ , Éponine thought. She headed back to the room, and accidentally stepped on a very large, folded piece of paper. “Where‘s the map? Where is it?” Grantaire mumbled. She picked it up and opened it. It was drawing of the outside of the ABC café and the surrounding buildings. _Did he draw this_ , she wondered. _He’s a very good artist._ In front of the café was a giant blocky mass, which read ‘ _The Barricade_ ’. _Are these plans for tomorrow? Don’t tell me he’s in charge…_ Then she noticed strange marks all around. In front of the barricade, the words ‘ _Gavroche, early morning_ ’ were written. On the inside there were more: ‘ _Feuilly and Jean, morning_ ’. Inside the café, these names were written: “ _Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, morning_ ” Near the window, a single name was written: ‘ _Enjolras, morning_ ’. It was circled and underlined multiple times. _What could these mean_ , Éponine wondered. Her eye strayed and she found another name: ‘ _Éponine, prior evening_ ’, it read. Grantaire grabbed it from her hands.  
“There it is.” He smiled at her sarcastically. “Thank you, Éponine.”  
“Wait, what does that mean?” She asked. “Those names, what do they stand for?”  
“Did you not see?” He pointed to the top corner. ‘ _The deaths of Les Amis de L’ABC_.’  
“What… what is that supposed to mean?” She asked. “Is this some sort of game to you? Are you so cynical you have fun predicting the deaths of your friends?”  
“It is no prediction.” Grantaire replied coldly. “It is fate. This is what will occur tomorrow, no doubt about it.”  
“What is wrong with you?” Éponine asked. Grantaire ignored her and pointed at the map again.  
“Gavroche, early morning,” he read. “Day after tomorrow, the barricade is met with soldiers. Gavroche confronts them. Shot twice; once in the chest, once in the head.”  
“What are you-”  
“Feuilly and Jean, morning. One is stabbed by a bayonet, the other shot to death with three bullets.”  
“Grantaire, please stop. This is-”  
“Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, morning. All shot multiple times from below by guards in the café. They are murdered right before Enjolras.”  
“Please-”  
“Enjolras-” Grantaire stopped, his face which moments ago held a mad expression turned to sorrow. “Enjolras…” He slid down to the floor, a moan escaping his mouth. “Enjolras…”  
“Grantaire…” She kneeled down to his level once again. “What is going on? Please, tell me. This… is horrifying.”  
“Enjolras… morning. Shot… eight times in the chest.” He said, not hearing her. She could see tears staining his cheeks.   
“Grantaire… you need rest. You are delusional… please, calm down.”  
“Delusions…” Grantaire mumbled, wiping his eyes with his still-damp sleeve. “If only that‘s what they were. It is the truth, Éponine, believe that.” He raised his hand to the map once more. “Éponine, prior evening. Shot in the stomach protecting Marius. Died a few minutes later… in his arms.” He looked over at Éponine, who just stared back in shock. It was believable. She could see herself dying in that way. But was Grantaire delusional? Never before had she seen a drunkard with such imagination, or with such passion. Most of the drunk people she had seen had slurred speech, walked around clumsily and never made any sense. Grantaire’s ideas seemed impossible, but the way he said them, the emotions he had shown when describing them were too much to just be the ramblings of a drunk man.  
“Please tell me.” Éponine said.  
“Tell you what?” Grantaire replied.   
“I told you what happened to me today. Something I planned to keep a secret from everyone, Marius included. I was emotional and distraught and spilled my soul to you. In return, tell me what is going on.”  
“…You will not believe me.”   
“I won‘t know until you tell me.”  
“…Alright.”


	4. A Wish

Grantaire could remember the first time he died in vivid detail. It was the day of the battle at the barricade. The evening prior Éponine had fallen, getting shot for the sake of Marius. It was cold and raining that night and Grantaire figured that they were ill-fated. So he did something he hadn‘t done in a long while- he had a drink. He drank much more than before, so the current day had become a drunken blur. He remembered Gavroche getting shot… twice? Three times? He had recalled hearing three shots in his drunken stupor, but whether or not they had all hit the boy was a mystery to him. Either way it was disgusting, and he just drank more. After that he remembered passing out from all of the liquor. He had awoken in a drunken haze in the café and saw several dead bodies lying about. He knew these people, did he not? Yes, there was Courfeyrac and Combeferre and a few others. But where was Enjolras? He couldn’t be dead, could he? He rushed out of the café- well, more stumbled out, often loosing his footing on the debris of the barricade that were scattered everywhere. _Enjolras, Enjolras, where are you?_ He looked around feverishly, and found no trace of the blonde man. There were dead bodies sprawled out everywhere, and blood was pooled all around him. _Good god_ , he thought, _how did I miss all of this? Why did no one wake me? Did they think I was dead too?_  
At that moment, he heard a familiar voice shout: “Vive la France!” He looked up and, on the top floor of the ABC café, stood Enjolras all alone, holding a pure red flag. He was surrounded by gunmen.  
“Enjolras!!!” Grantaire shouted from below. He saw Enjolras flinch at the sound of his name, but he did not move. He continued making eye contact with the guards and held his place. Grantaire heard some shouting behind him; some more soldiers must have heard him. He didn’t run however; he just stayed there and stared up at Enjolras in horror. _Please don’t… please don’t…_ he begged silently.   
It was for naught. The men released fire and shot Enjolras repeatedly. Enjolras’ body shook at the impact of multiple bullets hitting him at once, but he did not scream or shout in his last moments. He stumbled backwards and fell out of the window. His foot must have snagged on something, for he just dangled out of the window, looking like a hanged man. Grantaire got a good look at him, for what else could he look at? Enjolras looked, for lack of a better word, beautiful. His face had drained of color and became pale, the fierce red of his coat and the blood on his face making ever the contrast. His shirt was speckled with red dots where he had been shot and they looked almost natural with his red theme. His eyes were shut and his mouth closed. To Grantaire, it almost looked as if Enjolras was simply resting; he looked so calm and at ease, the red flag never leaving his hand.   
Grantaire felt himself shudder at the sight. Grantaire was cynical and pessimistic. Everyone knew this, and he was often the butt of the jokes at the ABC café. But though he was cynical and sometimes harsh, he wasn’t disrespectful or scornful to the other members. He considered them all his friends: Marius, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Gavroche and even Éponine. They were his friends, yet the sight of their dead, shot bodies had no effect on him. He had known they were doomed. He had known that they would die, and was not surprised to see them in eternal sleep. But Enjolras… he was not prepared to see his dead body. Deep in his heart, he knew Enjolras was the same as the rest. Sure, he was the leader and wore the brightest colors and sang and spoke the loudest, but he was just as mortal as everyone else. Grantaire knew he was going to die that day, but he was not prepared to witness it. So now, as he stood there alone in the midst of dead bodies and blood, all he could do was stare at Enjolras‘ corpse. He was going to die any moment. The guards had heard him shout and would soon be upon him, firing bullet after bullet into him until he ceased to breathe. He could run. He knew that. He had the opportunity to, but it would be useless. What was the point? Enjolras was dead. Enjolras was the reason he joined the revolution, Enjolras was the reason he had shown up at all and Enjolras was… the reason for his everything. Now that he was gone, what was left for poor Grantaire? He could feel tears coming up behind his eyes, a sensation he had not felt since he was but a small child.  
“Enjolr-” Before Grantaire could udder out a cry, he was shot from behind, and everything went black.  
They say when you die, there is a long tunnel with a white light at the end. Grantaire did not believe it. Grantaire hardly believed in anything, god and the afterlife included. So when Grantaire found himself in that long, white tunnel, he was rather surprised. Immediately, he turned around, trying his hardest to go back. He was prepared to die; he had figured that he was destined to death as soon as Enjolras delivered the news that they were the only barricade left. However, he was not at peace knowing the brutal way Enjolras died. He believed in Enjolras, and wanted nothing more than to see Enjolras reach his dream and finally be happy. But it did not happen.  
Grantaire pounded on nothing, trying to fight his way back, his thoughts filled with Enjolras’ dead, pale face. It was all he could see, all he could think about, and it made him want to die again. He would give anything to see him again, anything to help him out…  
“Would you like to see your friend again?” A voice asked. Grantaire looked around furiously but found no one around.   
“Who‘s there?” Grantaire asked. He did not recognize the voice. It sounded monotonous, and he could not distinguish whether it was male or female.   
“Would you like to see your friend again?” The voice repeated. Grantaire was starting to get irritated. First he finds out there’s an afterlife and now what? Ghosts? He was dead, so he figured there was no point in lying.   
“…Of course.” He answered. “I‘d give anything.”  
“I can arrange that.” The voice said _. What is this_ , Grantaire wondered. _The devil? A demon? An incubator?_   He decided to go along with it anyways; it’s not like he had anything else to do.  
“I figured that is why you were asking.” Grantaire finally replied. “What is the downside? Clearly there must be one.”  
“That light at the end,” The voice said, “will be unreachable to you.” Grantaire stared at the light in front of him. In just two or three steps, he could go there. He could go into the eternal bliss of heaven and never have a worry or care again.  
“What is heaven like?” Grantaire asked simply.  
“Heaven…” the voice quieted for a moment, as if pondering. “It‘s bright. It‘s bright and full of whatever it is that you love most, what makes you happy.”  
“So, Enjolras will be there?”  
“In a sense, yes.”  
“‘In a sense’?”  
“Your actual friends, your actual families… they are not there. Each person has their own heaven. They are, technically, isolated and alone. There will be people there; your family, your most cherished friends, your loved ones… however, they will just be simple replicas. They will act however you wish for them to act, for it is your heaven.” Grantaire thought about that for a moment. In his perfect world, how would Enjolras act? He would smile much more, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t be so focused on the revolution. Sure, it was cute to see Enjolras so passionate about something, but he was a little rude and ignorant when it came to anything else. He would also drink a little more, and have more fun… that’s how Grantaire’s Enjolras would be.   
But that wasn’t the real Enjolras. As much as he’d love to see Enjolras cheerful and carefree, that just wasn’t him. How would he be able to live with himself in the so-called "eternal bliss" if he knew that the man by his side was simply a façade? He couldn’t do it. He wanted to see Enjolras. The real Enjolras. If he wanted Enjolras to smile and act differently, he’d want it to be on his own accord, not forced and fake in a candy-coated reality. He would deal with the angry, opinionated, leader that he knew and loved instead.   
“Well? Have you decided?” The voice asked. “You can go on ahead; no one's stopping you.”  
“Yes, I know what it is I want.” Grantaire finally said. In life, he did not think of god or the afterlife or anything of that matter. To him, they were just like fairytales; something that naïve people turned to for advice, belief, and hope. He figured that when he died, the world would be black. That was it. He’d die and that would simply be the end. But now that he knew that that was not the case, he knew he had to do something, anything to see Enjolras again. “I wish to repeat time, until we either succeed in revolution, or Enjolras dies happy.”  
“You would give your soul for this?”  
“That I would.”  
“Then, wish granted.” Suddenly a light flashed out of nowhere, blinding Grantaire for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting against a wall at the ABC café.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first attempt.

Was that a dream? He straightened himself up. _Felt too real… Enjolras looked too real when he had died… it must have happened._  
“Grantaire!” It was Combeferre. “What are you doing lying about? Enjolras will not be happy to see you lounging around in our meeting place.”   
“What?” Grantaire asked, a little dazed. It was Combeferre, in the flesh, standing right before him. Last time he had seen him, he was sprawled on the floor, multiple bullet holes in his chest, his eyes wide open. He couldn’t believe it. The real Combeferre, living and breathing, was standing right before him.   
“Grantaire, are you listening?” Combeferre asked.   
“What? Oh, yes!” He stood up abruptly and looked around. The ABC Café was fairly clean. The tables were covered in bottles and drinks and a few materials for flags and some guns. But the tables were all still there, as were the chairs and the cabinets. The barricade had not yet been built, and the revolution had not yet started! There was time. There was time. “Combeferre, where is Enjolras?”  
“He‘s out, protesting as usual. He should be back at any moment, however.”   
“Great. That‘s perfect. That‘s perfect… thanks!”  
“Grantaire, are you well? You seem a little… confused. Did you have a drink or something?”  
“No, no. I am quite sober, Combeferre.” He walked past him and went downstairs, where he found more people. Courfeyrac was there, too. He was drinking from a bottle and chatting away with Jean happily. _They’re all going to die_ , Grantaire thought. _Should I tell them? No, not now. It would take a miracle for them to believe me. They will just assume I am drunk. Or mad. Maybe both._ Regardless, he couldn’t help but smile at them. It felt like only minutes ago he had seen these men, his friends, dead on the ground, their eyes dead and foggy, their bodies covered with blood. They were alive… they were alive.  
At that moment, Enjolras walked in, his face weary from a long day of preaching the word of freedom. He took off his red coat and sunk into a chair with a sigh. Grantaire could not help but stare at him. He looked beautiful, as always. His golden-blond hair was a little disgruntled, and his face a little dirty, but he still looked handsome. His piercing blue eyes were staring intently at nothing, and he seemed to be a little dazed. Never before had Grantaire looked at him this way. _Being a leader must be difficult_ , Grantaire thought. Finally, Enjolras’ eyes caught his, and he glared. Then again, there was no point in saying that Enjolras was glaring. He always seemed to be glaring at something.  
“Grantaire.” Enjolras said. “What is it that you are smiling at?” Was he smiling? He hadn’t realized it, but he was flat-out beaming at Enjolras. But who wouldn’t smile in this situation? The last he saw of Enjolras was his dead body, hanging from a window. Why wouldn’t he be smiling? “Grantaire?”  
“What?” Grantaire said, still smiling. Enjolras got up an approached him, curiously.  
“I asked you what it is you‘re smiling at?” Grantaire did not answer. He was too preoccupied, his eyes fixated on Enjolras. Enjolras was standing right in front of him. He was alive. His face was not pale and dead, his heart was still beating, his eyes still moving, his brain was still working. He was alive. Grantaire’s brain was a mix of thoughts rushing around, and he could not think properly. The only thing that was clear was that Enjolras was alive. Enjolras was alive.   
The next thing he knew, he was embracing Enjolras.   
The café went deathly quiet. The constant murmuring had disappeared and everyone stared at the two in confusion. Grantaire did not care. He held Enjolras tight in his arms, feeling as though if he let go, he’d be dead and gone all over again. He had never touched Enjolras before, had he? They were nearly the same height. Strange, Grantaire had always thought he was taller. Enjolras was pretty slender, he noticed. Not to say he looked frail or dying, but he was easy to get his arms around. _He’s warm_ , Grantaire thought, closing his eyes. Enjolras was taken completely by surprise, and stiffened, trying to comprehend what was happening. He didn’t fight back or hug back, he just stood there, confused.   
“Grantaire, what are you are doing?!” Enjolras finally shouted. Grantaire said nothing and let go. “Are you drunk? It is far too early for this nonsense.”   
“I‘m… well…” Grantaire himself could not believe he had just done that.   
“Look, Grantaire, I do not mind your company. In fact, I consider you a friend. But if you continue to pull these stunts I will have no choice but to ask you to leave, do you hear me?”  
“…Yes.” Grantaire said. He tried to look down and act ashamed, but he couldn’t help letting a small smile grow across his face. Enjolras was blushing. Had he never been hugged before? What a pity.  
“Good. Now if you‘ll excuse me.” Without another word, Enjolras turned away and began to shout words of inspiration to his followers. “The time is near…” Grantaire wasn’t really listening. He was talking about how the time of revolution was drawing near. Same speech as usual. Often times, Grantaire didn’t pay attention at all. He loved Enjolras, but in all honesty, couldn’t care less about the revolution. Sure, France was a mess. But the approach that Enjolras was taking? It was a mess too. It’d be easier to just negotiate your way around the law and lay low. In Grantaire’s opinion, the revolution would end terribly.  
Oh wait. It did.  
He shook his head. _I can’t think about that right now. I have to find a way to stop Enjolras…_  
“What was that, Grantaire?” Courfeyrac questioned in a whisper.  
“What was what?” Grantaire answered.  
“That tender embrace of yours. What was that?”   
“I…” He honestly didn’t know. Maybe it was because he had wanted to make sure that Enjolras was, in fact, alive. He needed to know for sure.  
“Don‘t tell me you‘re in love, R.” Combeferre jeered sarcastically. Before he had the chance to answer, Marius burst in, looking upset. Grantaire rolled his eyes on instinct. _I remember this_ , he thought. _Marius is going to come in and talk about how in love he is with that girl… Did he even say her name? Did he even know it?_   Grantaire sighed. _I’ve spent years with Enjolras, admiring him. It seems bizarre that Marius can fall head-over-heels for a girl he had met for a minute._   
“Marius, you‘re late.” Enjolras said, glaring. Marius ignored him and sat down, looking miserable. _How pathetic_ , Grantaire thought. _He sees a girl for five seconds and suddenly he cannot live without her._ Soon Combeferre and Courfeyrac stopped questioning Grantaire about his rather affectionate moment with Enjolras and began to talk with Marius about his crisis. I _remember this_ , Grantaire thought. _Marius complains about his lost love, Enjolras gets irritated and talks about revolution… yes, then Gavroche comes in to explain that Lamarque is dead…_ He looked up feverishly and saw Marius and Enjolras talking with one another, the other men looking at them with joyous, hearty expressions. _I don’t have much time! The barricade will be built tomorrow! I have to tell them to slow it down, or stop it, or something…_ He looked to his left and saw a bottle of liquor. He, in all honesty, did not care for alcohol that much. It stung his throat and made him dizzy. He only drank it in very stressful times, such as the revolution. He needed some now, before he started raving like a madman. _Calm down, Grantaire_ , he thought as he poured himself a glass. _If you explain what’s happened to you, they will not believe you. You have to find a better way._ He took a sip from the glass. It was strong and made a few tears well up in his eyes. He eventually swallowed it down, and soon felt a little calmer. He got up and headed for the stairs. _Maybe I can stop Gavroche and distract him. Buy a little more time if I can._  
“Gavroche!” Grantaire called, reaching the stairs before Gavroche had reached the top.   
“What?” Gavroche answered. It was unusual for someone other than Courfeyrac to talk with him, so he looked confused.   
“Well…” He had never talked to Gavroche before. What was he to say? “…How are you doing?”  
“…Fine.” He eyed Grantaire suspiciously. “I have news, actually. Really important, so-” He tried moving up, only to be blocked my Grantaire again.  
“So… isn‘t it past your bedtime?” Grantaire asked. _What the hell did I just ask?_  
“…What?” Gavroche looked a little irritated. “Who cares how I late I stay up? This is important!”  
“It can wait, can it not? We can save it for tomorrow… or next week, right? I mean we‘ll always be here.”  
“It can‘t wait! Let me through!” Gavroche shouted loud enough to get the others’ attention.   
“Grantaire, what are you doing?” Courfeyrac asked.   
“If he‘s got news, let him through.” Enjolras said.  
“But-” Gavroche slipped past him.  
“Listen, everyone! General Lamarque is dead!” Gavroche shouted. The room, once filled with joyous argument, grew silent. Even Marius, in his depressed stupor couldn’t help but look up.   
“Lamarque?” Enjolras finally said. “The people‘s man…” He began to stride back over to the crowd, Courfeyrac and Gavroche following him. _Damn_ , Grantaire thought. _I could try talking to Enjolras after the meeting’s over… but what good will that do? Think, Grantaire, think!_ He walked back to the table and took another sip of the booze, watching as the others enthusiastically joined in the talk of revolution. He waited and watched, trying to figure out the words to say that would make Enjolras believe him.   
Finally the meeting ended. Plans were made for tomorrow, and Marius, having left the meeting halfway through, returned, ultimately deciding he would fight with his friends instead of pursue that girl. Everyone was eager, preparing the guns and flags with the utmost optimism. Everyone except for Grantaire. He had seen this all before. In fact, last time he had participated as well. But now he saw no point. If he helped, the work would get done faster. He wanted to prolong it as long as he could, without doing something that’d get him thrown out. So he just sat in the corner, watching as the others worked away. Hours passed and the work finally ended, so people began to file out.   
“Enjolras!” Grantaire called. Enjolras was the last person in the café, cleaning things up and making sure everything was in place.   
“You‘re still here?” Enjolras asked, not looking up from his work. “Strange. I didn‘t see you helping out. I thought you‘d have left.”  
“Yeah, well… sorry about that.”   
“If you don’t want to be in the revolution I understand. But if that’s the case, please just go on home. We need as much focus here as we can.”  
“Yeah, I know that.” Grantaire said. “I do plan on staying.”  
“Is that so?” Enjolras said half-heartedly. “Well thank you. The more men we have, the better.”  
“Thanks… er…”  
“What is it?”   
“I just…” What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t just tell Enjolras that he had died and come back to save him. It wouldn’t make sense and no sane man would listen. So how could he persuade him otherwise? “Are you afraid to die?” Enjolras stopped what he was doing suddenly, surprised by the question.  
“Excuse me?” He asked, finally looking up at Grantaire.  
“Are you… afraid to die?” _Why did I ask that_ , Grantaire thought.  
“…Of course.” Enjolras said, after a brief pause. “It would be a lie to say I wasn‘t. But as long as I die for a greater cause, that is fine. I would be happy to die a martyr, a hero to the people, a role model to all.”  
“But… what if you‘re not a martyr? What if you die and no one remembers?”  
“Grantaire, what are you-”  
“What if the entire barricade fails? What if the people do not rise?”  
“Grantaire, stop-” Grantaire was too emotional to stop, the memories of his friends' dead faces flashing through his mind.  
“What if you die and no one ever remembers? It‘s useless, Enjolras. Useless! Why die for nothing?”  
“Grantaire!” Enjolras stepped forward and cupped Grantaire’s face in his hands. Grantaire went silent and just stared at Enjolras. His blue eyes captivated him; they were always focused and keen. Enjolras, to Grantaire’s surprise, did not look angry or even irritated. In fact, most of all, he look worried. “Grantaire, what has gotten in to you?”  
“I…” Grantaire couldn’t help it. “You‘re going to die. You‘re going to die at the battle. Everyone is. We don‘t stand a chance.”  
“Why are you saying such things?” Enjolras asked. “That is no way to speak of revolution.” He let go of Grantaire’s face and stepped ahead. “I appreciate your concern, but this is it. With Lamarque dead and gone, the time for us to rise is now.”  
“But-”  
“If you do not wish to participate, then you do not need to show up.” Enjolras headed for the stairs. “I‘ll see you tomorrow, possibly.” Without another word he went on ahead, leaving Grantaire alone. 

* * *

 

The next days continued just as they did in the past. They started protesting at the funeral of Lamarque, returned to the café and built a barricade. The only difference this time was Grantaire; he decided to participate as wholeheartedly as he could. He was the one to point out that Javert was a traitor, (even though they didn‘t believe him until Gavroche agreed), he was the one to saw a solider on the rooftops, and he was always there with a musket in hand, ready to fight. However, as time wore on, he saw that there was no hope. He was so fixated on making sure that Enjolras was safe that he failed to prevent Éponine’s death as well as Gavroche. In fact, everyone around him was dying in a matter of seconds. Was this really what was going on when he was in the café, passed out and drunk? He watched his friends retreat and run frantically, in search for help. _This is horrible. I have to help Enjolras_ , he thought. _The revolution’s not going to happen, but I can save him._ He saw Enjolras running towards the café. _Yes, I know what I can do_ , Grantaire thought. _There is a way out, through the back of the café, where that man had executed Javert last night._   
He ran inside the café and found Enjolras holding a pistol and aiming forward while Combeferre, Joly and Courfeyrac ran upstairs.   
“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, tucking the gun back into his belt. “You‘re still alive…” Grantaire nodded, bottle in hand, and approached him slowly. Enjolras was a mess. His shirt was unbuttoned and covered in the remains of gun powder and dirt. Blood was dribbling down his forehead, staining his beautiful face scarlet.   
“I‘m really sorry about this.” Grantaire said. He lifted his arm and smashed the bottle over Enjolras’ head, knocking him out cold. He lifted Enjolras in his arms, and carried him out through the back of the café, hidden out of sight from the guards.   
Grantaire carried Enjolras from the battlefield back to his apartment. He took the long way, going out of his way to avoid any lingering guards. As soon as he got home, he laid Enjolras on his bed and bandaged up the wounds he had. For the most part, he was alright save for the scar on his head. Grantaire sat by his side, staring silently at his sleeping face. Somewhere out there, all of their friends were dying or already dead. But what could he do? He couldn’t save them all. Saving Enjolras was enough, right? He placed his hand down on Enjolras’ face gently and smiled. _I saved him… I saved him…_  
Suddenly, Enjolras’ eyes opened, and he sat up, dazed and confused.  
“Where am I?!” He shouted. He clutched his head. “Ow…”  
“It‘s alright, Enjolras. Lay down.” Grantaire said, gently pushing him back down.  
“Where am I? Grantaire?” Enjolras asked.   
“You‘re safe.” Grantaire said. “You‘re safe. That‘s all that matters.” Enjolras sat up again, frantic.  
“But the barricade! What happened to the others?”  
“They‘re…” Grantaire hesitated, unsure of what to say. But that was an answer enough.  
“Are we…?” Enjolras placed a firm hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Are we the only ones left alive?”  
“I am not sure.” Grantaire answered. All of the color drained from Enjolras’ face, and a look of total helplessness that Grantaire had never witnessed before grew on his face.  
“Why did you save me?” He asked coldly. “Grantaire, why didn‘t you leave me there to die with the rest? To die like a martyr?!”  
“I…” Grantaire was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say? That he cared for him? “I had to save our leader.”  
“Why?!” Enjolras began to shake Grantaire. “A captain is supposed to go down with his ship. I… lead them all to their deaths! I shouldn‘t be here… I…” His grip on Grantaire loosened, and he began to breath heavily, trying to hold back tears.   
“Enjolras…” Grantaire began.  
“What an idiot… I‘ve been…” Enjolras muttered, ignoring Grantaire completely. “My naïve talk of revolution… was what killed them. How stupid.”  
“Enjolras, that‘s not-”  
“Did you see them there?” Enjolras looked up and stared at Grantaire with an intense, scared look; one that he had never seen before on the charismatic, brave leader. “Did you see them lying in their blood?” Though Enjolras did not get to witness Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Joly’s deaths, he did see several others dead. There was Gavroche, who got shot two times, and Jean and Feuilly, and so many others. So many others he had lead to death from his naïve talks of freedom. “I should have never… this is all my-”  
“Enjolras, do not be like this.” Grantaire said calmly. “This is but a failed attempt. There is still time. There is still hope. The people did not rise tonight, but there is still time for-”  
“Grantaire, I think I am beginning to understand you.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“You are a cynic; a man who believes in nothing. I understand now… why you believe in nothing. It‘s because there is truly nothing to believe in. The people. I believed in them. They could have risen and fought for their freedom, but they did not. They were my hope. They were my freedom. And they were not there. And now, everyone‘s dead. Everyone save for me; a coward and a fool of a leader, too selfish to die alongside his followers.”  
“Enjolras, you are nothing of the sort. Please-”  
“Leave me.” Enjolras replied coldly. “Grantaire, leave me.” Grantaire stared at him for a moment before getting up. He wanted to hold him tight, tell him that it’d all be alright. That revolution could come at another time, that there was still hope for France… but he knew Enjolras would hear none of it in the state that he was in. Grantaire walked away, shutting the door behind him.   
“At least this time, I saved him.” Grantaire whispered to himself. “At least he‘s still aliv-”  
He was silenced when he heard the sound of a gun shot. _What?_ Frantically, Grantaire turned around and opened the door. Inside was Enjolras, sprawled on the ground, his smoking pistol in one hand. His head was blown open, and blood was beginning to seep everywhere. Grantaire let out a scream and fell to his knees.   
“ENJOLRAS!!” He screamed. He pulled Enjolras into his lap and began to sob. “No… no… I saved you this time, didn‘t I?! Why did you have to..." He whimpered for a moment, tears streaming down his face. "You would want to die a martyr, huh? Living alone... is not for you. Why did I not see that? I was too stupid to... too stupid to help..." He hugged Enjolras tightly. Now that he thought about it, why was he alive? He did not believe in revolution ever, even the first time around. The reason why he was still around? He believed in something. "I... believed in something, Enjolras. You." Enjolras was a man who lived on belief, on hope. And after the failed rebellion, after all his friends had fallen, after all the people of France had abandoned him, he had nothing left to believe in, and therefore had nothing left to live for. "I'm so... sorry... Enjolras I'm-"   
“Grantaire, what are you doing?” A voice called. Grantaire opened his eyes and found himself… in the ABC café. His friends were all alive, and chatting with one another. In front of him stood Combeferre, staring at him with confused and worried eyes. “You were calling out Enjolras‘ name. Were you dreaming?” Grantaire felt dizzy. Was it a dream?   
“Where is Enjolras?” Grantaire asked.   
“He‘s out, protesting as usual. He should be back at any moment, however.” Combeferre replied. Wait… he remembered this. Combeferre told him the same thing just a bit ago. That’s when he remembered. ' _I wish to repeat time, until we either succeed in revolution, or I can make Enjolras die happy'_. That’s what he had said, wasn’t it? It was time to start over again. He stood up and walked past Combeferre, heading for the bar. He didn’t bother finding himself a glass and instead just gulped it down. It stung, but he didn’t care. He needed it. After seeing the body of Enjolras, dead by his own hand, he needed a drink. Or maybe twenty.  
 _No mistakes this time_ , Grantaire, he thought. _You have to try harder this time, idiot._ He could hear Combeferre talking, likley asking him why he was drinking so much, but he picked up none of it. All that mattered now was one thing: preserving Enjolras' happiness. He'd die again and again if it meant Enjolras could die with a smile on his face. _Here we go again_ , he thought with a sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

The first attempt was the one Grantaire remembered clearest, for it was the only time he was mostly sober. As the attempts went on, he found himself drinking a little more each time, just so he could relax. Or not kill himself. He was unsure of which. Regardless, the next attempts all seemed to blend in to one another. It always started the same: he was slumped against the wall at the ABC café and someone, usually Combeferre, would ask him if he was alright. The meeting was always the same. Marius was late with his stupid girl problems, he and Enjolras would argue, then Gavroche would show up and tell everyone that Lamarque was dead. Nothing could change it. He had tried to distract Gavroche a multitude of times, but it was absolutely pointless. The kid was persistent and tough; traits he would have admired if it had been a different situation. Oftentimes he wouldn’t even stay for the meeting. He’d get up and go, giving himself time to plan things out. He spent the night robbing an armory. The barricade would need as many guns as possible, even though they were heavily outnumbered. He would return late that night, when the café was deserted, and leave all the guns there. No one was there to thank him, and no one questioned it when they saw them there the next day, they just took them and went. He thought it would work, but found that as soon as the canons came out they were done for.   
As time went by, he found himself memorizing everything. It was agonizing to know exactly what was going to happen and when. He memorized the words of hope and rebellion Enjolras would preach, he memorized the sorrows of love that Marius spoke of, and he memorized the various conversations he heard around the café. Most importantly, he memorized where each person would die, and how. It was agonizing. He would walk through the café, knowing that in a very short amount of time, his friends would be there, lying in their blood, all hope of freedom and rebellion destroyed. Every time he started over, he’d draw out maps and charts, reminding himself when what would happen. His apartment soon became cluttered with papers and notes, and with each attempt there was more. They all served one purpose: they were clues to help him find a way to help Enjolras. That was all he wanted.  
However, his goal soon began to fade. He wanted to save Enjolras. He wanted him to be happy and free and alive, but his hope and belief in it faded with each death. Soon enough, he found himself taking drastic measures to preserve his sanity. He would drink, bottles at a time, to stop himself from just breaking down and crying at the sight of Enjolras. He never got over seeing Enjolras’ dead, pale face. It didn’t matter how many times he had seen it; every time he saw Enjolras, living and breathing, giving his naïve speeches about equality and freedom he wanted to cry and embrace him and tell him that the world, his cause, was all for naught. But if he had done that, he would be ignored and called a lunatic. He also found solace in the women that were around. He was drowning himself in liquor and sex, and he did not care. Enjolras likely didn’t care either. In his drunken stupors all he talked about was how pointless the world was.   
He found himself growing less and less interested in the barricade and its activities. He rarely participated at all, up until the final battle. That was the only time he actually tried to help. Other than that, he worked on his own time, for his own goals, living and dying and suffering alone. No matter what happened, whether he was drinking, sleeping, writing, fighting or dying, one thing was always on his mind: Enjolras. He would save Enjolras. It didn’t matter how many times he died or how miserable he got, he would save Enjolras, or at the very least see him smile in his last moments. That was all he ever wanted, and he would live a thousand years if it meant it could be accomplished.   
That was his hope, and it was the only thing keeping him sane. How much longer would it work? The world and his thoughts seemed to grow darker with each passing death.  
 _How many more times will I make the same mistakes?_  
 _How many more times will I have to be killed, only to wake up alone?_  
 _How many more times will I have to be alone?_  
 _How many more times will I have to see him dead?_

* * *

“That‘s it.” Grantaire said finally, taking another swig of liquor. He had been talking for god knows how long, and Éponine just sat beside him, listening, occasionally nodding to reassure him that she was still listening. “Well, there you go. Feel free to laugh now. I‘m a lunatic, I know.” Éponine didn’t know what to say. It was a lot to just take in and accept. She wanted to tell him to get some rest and tell him that he was delirious, but even she was beginning to question it. No drunkard she had seen before spoke like this. They all spoke with slurred speech and they were always impossible to comprehend. They were unfocused, changing subjects constantly, and never seemed to have a clear thought. Grantaire, however, spoke clearly with determination. He spoke with confidence and intelligence, as if he were stating something as simple and obvious as the color of the sky. It was confusing. What he said was absolute nonsense. There was no way he could repeat time. It simply wasn’t possible. But she found herself almost believing. She wanted to believe this man, this man who had been one of the few in her life to show her kindness, but it simply seemed impossible. She’d go along with it anyways, she supposed.  
“I will not laugh.” She said.   
“Is that so? Well, very kind of you.” Grantaire said. Without another word, he got up, stumbled forward, then grasped a chair to keep his balance. Éponine got up and held on to him.  
“Lean on me. You‘re going to collapse in the state you‘re in.” She said. “Here, I‘ll walk you to bed.”  
“No.” He mumbled. “I have things to attend to.”  
“Like what?” She asked. “It is still dark out; likely past midnight. What could you possibly need to be attending to at this time?” He stumbled forward and she had no choice but to support him on his way. He walked into the kitchen, and opened up a few floorboards on the ground. Beneath it were stacks upon stacks of muskets.  
“I have to get these to the café before dawn.” He said. “Shouldn‘t have wasted that time sleeping.” He collected them in his arms and staggered towards the door.  
“Didn‘t you say that they-”  
“Didn‘t help us win? Yes, I did. But might as well bring them. They help a little, which counts for something.” He headed for the door, the guns threatening to fall from his arms. Éponine went ahead and grabbed some of them.  
“I will help.”  
“It‘s late. Are you sure you do not wish to rest?”  
“I‘m sure. Besides, you shouldn‘t be alone again. I‘ll help you.” She went to the bedroom to retrieve some of the guns she saw in his cabinet, and returned to find him smiling dreamily at nothing. “Are you alright?”  
“Yes, yes just fine.” He said, still grinning stupidly. “I… haven‘t had any help in a long time.” She smiled back at him.  
“Yeah, me too. Now come on.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the night going to and fro from Grantaire’s apartment to the ABC café, dropping off the muskets and making sure everything was ready. Finally, they were finished. They walked back to the apartment slowly, their feet aching and sore from all the walking.  
“So you… did all of this on your own before?” Éponine panted.  
“Yeah. And Enjolras always wondered why I was always lazing around at the barricade.”  
“You should tell him. I’m sure he would appreciate your efforts.”  
“I doubt that.” Grantaire replied with a sort of sarcastic chuckle. “He hardly appreciates my existence. He probably wouldn‘t believe me anyways.”  
“You really sell yourself short, you know.” She said. “Why do all this for a man who will not acknowledge you?”  
“I could ask you the same.” He said. That silenced her. _Maybe I should have held my tongue_ , he thought. Then again, it was the truth. What point was there to denying it? Marius saw Éponine as a friend, and that was all. He was the one missing out in the end. She seemed like a truly kind-hearted girl. “Sorry.” He finally said.  
“…Well, monsieur, you speak true.” She said. “But I think we both know the reason.”  
“Love?”  
“Love.”  
“Such a petty, stupid thing.”  
“Says the man who fights for it day in and day out.”  
“I don‘t fight for love, I fight for Enjolras.”  
“Because you love him.” _Damn, she’s good._  
Finally they reached his apartment. It was still dark out; they’d have just a few hours left to rest before the battle.   
“You can have the bed. I‘m fine on the chair.” Grantaire insisted. Eponine didn’t argue. She was exhausted, and plopped down on the mattress in an instant. She bundled herself up then looked up at Grantaire, and saw him staring pensively at nothing.  
“Are you alright?” She asked. He nodded, still not really paying attention.  
“Only one more day…” He mumbled. “What if I fail again…?”  
“I‘m sure it will be alright this time.” Éponine replied with a smile. “We‘ve got plenty of guns… and plenty of men, right?”  
“Yeah…” He looked down at her with a grimace. “Are you sure you want to come tomorrow?”  
“Of course.” She said without any hesitation. “I do not wish to fight, but if it is for Marius…”  
“You know you‘re going to die, right?”  
“Yes, but I can avoid it now that I know… right?’  
“Well… not really.” Grantaire said curtly. “It happens in a few seconds. It‘s either him or you, I‘m afraid.”  
“Then let it be me.” She said. Her tone was unchanged. She talked sounding confident and unafraid. She rolled over and curled herself up in the sheets.  
“I don‘t understand you. How can you be so calm knowing what‘s going to happen? I hardly ever sleep on this night. Yet you-”  
“Because I‘m doing it for him.” She interrupted. “Dying is a terrible fate, but if it‘s for him… then it‘s alright. Besides, if it goes the way you said it would, then it’s even better.”  
“How so?”  
“I always figured… I‘d die alone, you know? Like in a sewer or an alleyway… either of sickness or hunger or… something depressing like that. I mean, my family’s not well off. We’re doing worse now than we were when we owned that rancid inn, and that’s saying something. I hardly live with them anymore anyways, and fending for myself is hard enough as it is. Up until now, I’ve been dreaming of… I dunno, somehow being with Marius and being happy together. That dream ended today. But at least… at least now I know my life will end in his arms. That’s a fate I’m okay to receive.”  
Grantaire didn’t respond. It was a lot to take in, after all. It made him think. It made him remember. Just what have I been fighting for? The way Éponine thought was so simple. She wanted to help Marius no matter what, and saw dying by his side, dying for his sake to be a good thing. That’s it. Everything she did was for him and only him. That’s how simple Grantaire was once upon a time. Go to the battle and fight for Enjolras. That was it. Now, something changed. Now there was all the planning and the drinking and stressing and overall suffering. How could he have been so blind as to lost sight of it before? Maybe he didn’t need to save Enjolras. Maybe Enjolras, as terrible as it sounds, would be alright with death. Maybe in the end that was just his fate. _Well fine, so be it. I will fight for him regardless. And if he does die, I want to be by his side. A man such as him does not deserve a fate alone._  
“…Grantaire?” Éponine mumbled. He could tell that she was close to drifting off.  
“Yes?” He replied.   
“Is Marius going to die?”  
“Is he…?” Grantaire thought about it. In all honesty, when he had seen people die, it happened so fast that he failed to check for everyone. But never in the sprawled bodies had he seen Marius’ freckled face. He could have died. He may have been somewhere else. He could of run. He could’ve been injured. Grantaire had no idea what became of him. Grantaire’s world ended with Enjolras, so he never paid any heed to Marius. He decided that he might as well be nice to Éponine, seeing as it was her last night. “With a guardian angel like you, he will be just fine.” She smiled, her eyes shut.  
“I‘m so thankful for tonight.” She said.  
“Is that so?” Grantaire asked. “What for? Tonight was the worst night of your life, was it not?”  
“No. For the first time in awhile, I feel… secure. That, and it’s nice to have a friend.”  
He couldn’t argue with that. How long had it been since he had such a heart to heart conversation with anyone. It was nice. It was nice to let it all out. He was still unsure whether or not Éponine believed him, but he didn’t care. He could talk to someone, and that was all that mattered. Oh, how he wished he had known her before tonight. Perhaps they could’ve had a long, happy friendship. But the world does not work that way. Not his world, anyways. The ever-lasting world of the same events. He knew that the chances of having this friendship again, of getting to know Éponine like this again was unlikely. But, he may as well enjoy it. Just this once, he may as well find peace with a friend who, for the first time it seemed, cared for him back.   
“I‘m glad I met you, Éponine. Goodnight.” He said.  
“You too.” She mumbled, almost incoherently. Tomorrow was the battle that would result in their deaths, and Grantaire knew this. But for now, he was happy. He closed his eyes and found himself drifting off to sleep.


	7. This Time for Sure

Grantaire awoke as soon as the sun rose, the light from the window shining on his eyes. He sat up, his back sore from sleeping in an upright position. He rubbed his back, looked down and found Éponine curled up on the mattress, fast asleep. He didn’t want to wake her. She looked so peaceful, calm and happy. He wished for her to stay this way; to stay at ease for as long as possible. But he knew if he kept her there and if she did not go to the barricade, then Marius would die. He knew she’d never forgive herself or him if that were to happen. Besides, what’s the point? If she stayed behind and let Marius die, what would happen to her? She’d still be alone in the world. Only this time, there’d be no Marius. He was the only thing that kept her going each day. The thought of being with him and being loved by him was the only thing that kept a smile on her face at the darkest of times and if he were to fall? What would she do with herself? That would be a miserable existence indeed. _What would I do if Enjolras were to fall while I lived ?_ Grantaire shook his head. _Don’t think about that. It’s not going to happen, anyways._   
“Éponine, wake up.” Grantaire said, kneeling beside her and shaking her gently.   
“What..?” Éponine replied, still half asleep.  
“It‘s time to wake up. We need to hurry.” He got up and grabbed his coat and hat.  
“For wha…oh!” She shot up, immediately wide awake. “Yes, let‘s go!” She grabbed him by the wrist and together they ran out, heading for the street in which General Lamarque’s funeral would take place.   
When they arrived, it was deathly silent. Onlookers ranging from old to young were lined up in silence, waiting for the casket to be brought forward. Éponine and Grantaire separated. He was supposed to be there to support Enjolras and she wasn’t supposed to be there at all, so she hid in the crowd, a distance away from Marius.   
Soon enough the casket came forward and Enjolras stepped onto the street, singing his song of protest, waving a crimson flag proudly. The others followed him, Grantaire included. Enjolras made his way to the top of the carriage, Marius by his side, both of them waving flags triumphantly. How he envied Marius. He knew that Enjolras considered him a best friend. If not for Cosette, Marius would still be just as dedicated to the cause as Enjolras. _If only I had tried harder_ , Grantaire thought. _Maybe then Enjolras would have seen me as a friend instead of just another ally._   
Soon enough the carriage was stopped by a large group of angry soldiers. This was Grantaire’s cue to leave. He snuck his way out from the carriage and headed towards the ABC café. He always left early, so he could ensure himself a place at the barricade. He sat down inside at a table. This would be the last moment for relaxation, so he closed his eyes, trying to remain calm. Eventually a girl found her way upon his lap. Typical. This had happened before. It’s not like they’d have enough time to do anything, so he just looked up at her and smiled. That’s when he heard a ruckus from outside. Marius ran inside and tapped him on the shoulder.  
“Get off your ass it's starting!” He shouted as he ran past. _I know_ , Grantaire thought. _I know._   
Everything else went by in a haze. He helped his friends set up the barricade and helped passed out guns, (many of which he had supplied). As he was doing this, there was always a bottle in his hand. He had forgotten when he had grabbed it, but it didn’t matter. He’d be needing it soon.   
The sky was beginning to turn dark. Soon, it’d be time: the first battle. Some soldiers would come. Bullets would ring out and a few would die. But the battle would end prematurely, with Marius threatening to blow up the entire barricade. Usually Grantaire was passive about this part. Sure, he helped, firing a few bullets here and there and passing up ammunition to the people at the top of the barricade but he was calm while doing so. He knew the battle would end with few fatalities of people he was indifferent about.  
But not tonight. Tonight Éponine was going to die, and she was no longer a bland face he cared little about. No, she was his friend. He could try to prevent it. He really could. But if he did… then Marius would die. Marius’ threat is what ends this battle and gives the barricade more time. He couldn’t be allowed to die. That, and Éponine would never forgive Grantaire or herself if Marius were to die. He turned and looked up. Everything was in position. Marius was looking behind, holding a torch in his hand, completely unaware of the gunman in front of him.  
“Look out!” Gavroche cried. But the kid was too far away to help.  
“No!” Éponine shouted, grabbing the gun and pulling it towards herself. The shot rang out. It did not stand out from the others. It was one shot among many but this night it rung louder than the rest to Grantaire. She clutched her stomach then stumbled backwards down the barricade. No one saw her falling back, and no one seemed to care. They were too focused on Marius and the threat he now possesed.  
“I‘ve got you!” Grantaire said, running forward to break her fall. He caught her in his arms. “Can you walk?” She shook her head feverishly. “Lean on me.” He said. “I‘ll find a place for you to rest.”  
“But… the battle…” She said, her voice faint.  
“I told you. This one‘s short. It‘s going to end in a moment so don‘t you fret.” She began to stumble, so he hoisted her up in his arms.  
“Don‘t pity me..” She said with a cough. “I do not need to be carried like a child.”  
“I‘m making sure you live long enough to speak with Marius one last time. Please, don‘t complain.” He said. That silenced her. He found a spot at the bottom of the barricade that was deserted. He laid her down there so she was sitting up against some of the furniture. He sat down beside her.   
“I‘m afraid I do not have any bandages.” He said, gazing at her blood-soaked hand covering the wound.  
“That‘s… to be expected.” She mumbled.   
“I would ask you how you‘re feeling… but…”  
“I‘m dying.” She said curtly.  
“I‘m well aware.” He replied. Up above them they could hear the sound of frantic shouting. The soldiers were retreating and the battle had come to an end. “He will be with you in a second. I should take my leave.”  
“Wait.” Éponine reached out and grabbed his arm.   
“What is it?” He asked. She gazed at him, her eyes foggy and glazed over, death clearly near.   
“Thank you… thank you so much…” She said, a small smile on her face.  
“What…? I didn‘t do anything…” Grantaire reasoned.  
“You gave me kindness…” She said, “when my world had none…” He could feel himself trembling and, with her clean hand, she clutched his. “I am so grateful, my friend.” Grantaire didn’t want to see this. He shook his hand out of hers and looked back at her, one last time.  
“Goodnight, my friend.” He said. He looked up and saw Marius heading his direction, a look of recognition on his face at the sight of the slumped Éponine. Grantaire walked past him, and headed to the café. He… needed a drink.  
He walked into the café, and passed the imprisoned Javert, who didn‘t even bother to look up at him. He passed him and went upstairs, grabbed himself a drink and sat by the window. The window that, in a day’s time, Enjolras would fall through, breathing his final breath. It wasn’t fair. He opened a bottle and began to drink it down, ignoring the sting of the strong beverage as it went down his throat. He peered out the window and saw rain beginning to fall. Several of the students were rushing about, trying to make sure the gunpowder and ammunition was covered and dry. He spotted Éponine, cradled in Marius’ arms, smiling. He couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. At least she got to die in the arms of the one she loved. He looked away. He didn’t want to see this. Many times before he had seen Éponine die, and on a few occasions he was the one to carry her body away. He felt nothing of it at the time. Yes, it was a loss and yes, it was tragic but never before had it made him feel anything. All that came with her death was numbness and the unfortunate knowledge that soon they’d all be dead and gone. And it wasn’t fair. No one here deserved to die. All they wanted was freedom, equality and to end the suffering of the people. Was that something really deserving of death? Especially a death so brutal and unkind? Of course not, but the end came anyways. Down below he could hear the sound of whimpering; it was Marius, crying for his now deceased friend. And that’s all he ever saw her as; a friend. _It’s more than what Enjolras thinks of me,_ Grantaire thought. _I’m just the silly drunkard that can’t do anything._ He remembered one time he had tried his hardest to get in the way of everything, just to prolong the short time Enjolras had left. It eventually wore out Enjolras’ patience and he had yelled at him, claiming that he was incapable of believing in anything or doing anything, including dying. He was wrong. He was so wrong but there was no way to prove it now… or ever, to be honest. The moment Enjolras died everything reset.   
He grabbed a bunch of bottles and headed back downstairs. Might as well give the boys one last drink before it was all over. He sat down on the barricade by a broken piano. The rain had recently stopped, and the mood was solemn. Hardly anyone was talking. Grantaire silently passed out drinks to everyone except for Enjolras who shook his head in refusal and Gavroche due to his age. He drank in silence beside his friends, his friends who would soon be dead. He placed his fingers on the broken keys of the piano.   
“Drink with me… to days gone by…” Grantaire mumbled. He might as well cheer his friends up on this dreary night. Soon everyone had joined in; half melancholy, half cheerful. He closed his eyes and continued to drink and mumble along with the others. Soon they’ll all be dead. But they deserve a drink tonight. One last night where they can feign belief in a bright future.  
He got up and walked over to Marius. He had recently given something to Gavroche to be delivered. Likely something for Cosette. What other explanation could there be?   
“A drink?” Grantaire asked. Marius looked up, a little dazed.  
“No. No, I‘m alright.” Marius replied. He threw a bottle at him anyways. “Grantaire, I am not interested in drinking tonight.” Marius responded. Grantaire said nothing and opened the bottle. He raised it up.  
“To Éponine.” Grantaire said. Marius perked up at that. Hesitantly he opened his own bottle and held it up.  
“To… Éponine.” He said, his voice wavering. They knocked the bottles together then each took a sip. At least Marius took a sip. Grantaire was chugging his own bottle down.  
“I did not know you knew her name.” Marius said. He was gazing dreamily at the bottle, showing no interest in having another drink.  
“I know a lot more than I let on.” Grantaire said with a smirk. “How’s your Cosette doing?”  
“You-” Marius looked shocked to hear her name. “How do you-”  
“Like I said, I know a lot more than I let on.” He grabbed Marius‘ bottle, dropping his own empty one to the ground.  
“So you‘re a fortune teller now?” Marius asked. Grantaire laughed.  
“I never thought about that. I could be a fortune teller if I wanted to, huh? Not that anyone would believe the predictions of a drunkard.” He took another swig and Marius eyed him questionably.  
“Grantaire, can you tell me something?” Marius asked.  
“Ah, you want a fortune?” Grantaire replied with a smile. “What‘s in it for me?”  
“Please, no more joking. Just answer something for me.”  
“Yes, yes. What is it?”  
“Do we…” Marius looked around, making sure no one was listening. “Do we stand a chance?”  
“Well…” Grantaire looked back at the group of boys sitting at the barricade, trying to get their spirits up with song and drink. He looked at their smiling faces and, as usual, saw their deaths flashing through his minds. He imagined all of their dead bodies as he stared at them and shook his head. “Not at all.” Marius’ face grew noticeably paler, and Grantaire was unsure whether it was because of the fate he and his friends shared or the fact it would mean leaving Cosette alone.  
“Let me change that.” Grantaire finally said, placing a hand on Marius’ shoulder. “We,” Grantaire gestured to the boys sitting a distance away, “have no chance. But you,” he poked Marius in the chest, “will be fine.”  
“What makes me different from you?” Marius asked, brushing Grantaire’s hand away.  
“Simple: you have someone waiting for you. We don’t.” Marius just stared at him, confused and unsure of what to say. “Besides, you should live on. It‘s what she‘d want.”   
“But wait… I don‘t want you guys to die. That‘s not-”  
“Fair? No, it‘s not. But fate has different plans. It gave you life, and it gave you love towards a girl who loves you back. Cherish it. You don’t know what’d I give for the one I loved to feel the same.”  
“I thought your only love was the bottle.”  
“Life‘s just full of surprises, is it not?”

* * *

 

The day was here. The morning started with the sounds of shouting soldiers, slowly approaching the barricade. Soon enough they would call out the canons, and they’d all be done for. Grantaire helped a little bit, as usual, but to no avail. It didn’t help and it never would. He eventually retreated to the café, just a little bit ahead of Enjolras and the others. This time, he was determined to die by his side. If he couldn’t save Enjolras, so be it. He’d want to be by his side in the end. At least this once. He hid behind an overturned table, out of sight from the guards. Down below he heard the sound of several gunshots fired in unison as well as three loud thumps. Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Joly were now dead. The only one left was-  
Enjolras burst into the room, panting, and stumbled to the window. He looked around and saw no escape, but didn’t seem to care anymore. _Poor Enjolras_ , Grantaire thought. He always wondered what must be going through Enjolras’ mind at this point. The people had not stirred or risen, the barricade was done for and all of his friends had been murdered in front of his eyes. He peered at Enjolras from his hiding spot and shuddered. He looked terrible. His face was stained scarlet; he must have been hit with something, or a bullet had grazed him. His clothes were covered with ash, dirt and dried blood and his golden hair was a tangled mess. But his eyes were the worst part. They looked dead and dark, and stared at the ground. It was the look of a man who had given up. It was the look of a man who knew his fate was sealed. It was the look of a man who had realized the end was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Grantaire knew this look; he saw it in his own reflection everyday. But it did not look right on Enjolras’ face.   
Next to the window Enjolras found the red flag, bundled up. Someone had left it there haphazardly the night before and it had been forgotten. He picked it up and glanced at it for a moment, letting out a sigh. Everything that that flag stood for was for naught. The soldiers then marched in. There were tons of them; far more than was necessary for the execution of one man. They held their guns up, waiting for their orders to fire mercilessly away at the poor, lonely man. Enjolras did not look at them. He kept his eyes on the flag. Grantaire then stood up and walked forward. The guards turned and aimed their guns, but did nothing. Grantaire ignored them as well. He kept his gaze fixated on Enjolras. Enjolras, his only meaning and his only light in the cruel world that he lived in. Enjolras looked up at him and… smiled. This was something that was rare. Enjolras rarely smiled. He was so serious, so dedicated that he simply forgot to let loose and smile. So it was surprising to say the least that Enjolras would smile at a time like this, and smile at a man like Grantaire. Grantaire wanted to smile and embrace him and comfort him in his last moments, but he knew that was impossible. Instead he just walked up to Enjolras, and stood by his side proudly. Enjolras smiled at him, then lifted the red flag above his head. Both of them stared directly at the soldiers who, for the first time all day, seemed hesitant to kill. The barrels of several guns were pointed at them, yet Grantaire was unafraid. He was content for the first time in a long while. The reason? Enjolras smiled at him. Enjolras never smiled. And if he were to smile at a time like this, it only meant one thing: he was happy. He was at peace. This meant it would finally end. This was the time that Enjolras would die happy, and Grantaire’s endless trials would finally be over. Sure, he’d rot away in hell or in limbo or something of that nature, but at least he’d know that in his last moments living he made the man he loved more than life itself smile. That was all that mattered.  
“Fire!” The soldiers fired at Grantaire and Enjolras mercilessly, and Grantaire closed his eyes. _This is the end_ , he thought. _An end I’m alright with._   
_Finally._   
Grantaire knew that as soon as he opened his eyes again, he’d be in hell. Or limbo. Or whatever that strange, white area was when he first made the deal. Either way it’d be over. It’d finally be over. He opened his eyes and found himself…  
In the ABC café.  
“Grantaire!” It was Combeferre. “What are you doing lying about? Enjolras will not be happy to see you lounging around in our meeting place.” Grantaire just stared forward. Around him the students were preparing, chatting amongst themselves, etc. It had… reset once more. He had failed once more.


	8. Intoxicated Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was sure it'd work. But it did not. Now what?

“Grantaire? Are you alright?” Combeferre continued. Grantaire did not respond. He simply continued to stare forward, his eyes wide and confused. _What did I do wrong? What did I do? I was going to make sure he died happy, right? He smiled. In his last moments he smiled. One smiles when they are happy, right? So what did I do wrong? How come this did not end?_ “Grantaire?” Combeferre reached out to shake him gently. “What is wrong?”  
“Don‘t touch me.” Grantaire said curtly, brushing his arm off. He got up and headed towards the bar to grab himself a drink.  
“Grantaire, wait.” Combeferre walked forward and gabbed the end of Grantaire’s sleeve. “Something is clearly the matter.”  
“What do you care?” Grantaire hissed, shaking him off again. “What does anyone here care about the silly drunkard Grantaire? I don‘t help ever, I don‘t contribute ever. I‘m worthless and you are well aware of it. Everyone here is. Now leave me alone.” Combeferre looked at him for a second with concern on his face, but just walked away. _Damn it_ , Grantaire thought. _Why did I go and take it out on him? Oh well, he will likely forget soon enough. After all, he’ll be dead just like the rest soon enough. And the only one to remember will be me._  
Grantaire walked to a vacant table in the corner and opened up his bottle. And another. And another. He drank until he blacked out and he didn’t care. It would all be the same regardless. Marius would come in with his talk of love, Enjolras would tell him to stop, and everyone would have a good time. Everyone except him. Again.  
When Grantaire awoke the café was silent. He looked up and found the lights still lit; so he wasn’t abandoned. That, or the last person to leave had left them like that out of sheer laziness. Regardless, no one had bothered to wake him. _I should get going_ , he thought. _Got to get things for the battle._ He tried to stand but felt dizzy and his head hurt tremendously. Grantaire grabbed his head and heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor. He looked down and saw a giant red flag on the ground. _That’s Enjolras’ flag. But why was it on me? Did someone take pity on me and us it as a blanket? Enjolras will be mad when he finds the sorry bloke who did it._  
“The drunkard finally stirs.” Enjolras said. Grantaire shot up at the sound of his voice. A few tables down Enjolras sat, doing some last minute preparations. “Pick up my flag, will you? I do not want it getting dirty for tomorrow.”  
“Yeah.” Grantaire responded dumbly. He picked up the flag and folded it then placed it on the table. “Who put that on me?” Grantaire almost blushed at his words. His voice was heavily slurred and he sounded ridiculous.  
“I did.” Enjolras said. Grantaire eyed him questionably.   
“ _You_   did?” Grantaire repeated.  
“Yes.” He replied. “I was going to wake you up, but Combeferre informed me you were not feeling well. I don‘t want any man ill for tomorrow.” _Thanks, Combeferre. I owe you one._  
“Really. That‘s kind of you… not to say you are unkind.”   
“I know my reputation, worry not. I must have terrified Marius today with my talk.” They sat in silence for a moment until Enjolras finally got up and put his coat on, ready to leave. “I‘m leaving for tonight. I suggest you do as well. Tomorrow‘s going to be a big day. It will be the day we liberate France. The day we-”  
“all die.” Grantaire finished. Enjolras stopped dead in his tracks.  
“That…” He hesitated for a moment. “We may die, this is true. But it will be for a higher cause. It will be one step of many down the road to freedom. If we die, we will die proudly, as heroes and martyrs-”  
“But… what if you‘re not a martyr? What if you die and no one remembers?”  
“Grantaire, what are you-”  
“What if the entire barricade fails? What if the people do not rise?” Grantaire got up, and walked towards where Enjolras was standing.  
“Grantaire, stop-” Grantaire was too emotional to stop. He had said these words before to an Enjolras a long time ago, but that didn't stop him. He must look like a mad, depressed man, but it was the truth. He knew how Enjolras would respond. He knew Enjolras would not heed his words. But he let them out anyways.  
“What if you die and no one ever remembers? It‘s useless, Enjolras. Useless! Why die for nothing?”  
“Grantaire!” Enjolras stepped forward and cupped Grantaire’s face in his hands. Grantaire went silent and just stared at Enjolras. He had seen this scene before. Enjolras asks him what is the matter with him and, no matter what Grantaire says, he simply tells him not to worry, that everything will be alright. These words of kindness that were nothing but falsifications.   
But something changed in Enjolras’ gaze. Usually he looked concerned or worried but overall focused. Now, however, he looked confused. He looked at Grantaire’s face as if trying to solve a perplexing puzzle.  
“Have I…” Enjolras mumbled. “Have we… had this conversation before?” Grantaire stared back at him, his eyes wide. _There’s no way. There’s no way he can remember._ He let go of Grantaire and turned away. “No, I must be mistaken. I must be imagining things. We have never talked this way before. We-”  
“Yes we have.” Grantaire said. “On this very night, a long time ago. Do you remember?”  
“Grantaire, that‘s impossible. Tonight is tonight. It could not have happened a long time ago if it is the present.”  
“I can assure you, it is possible.” Grantaire said. Enjolras was about to talk more but Grantaire interrupted him. “Do you remember? Do you remember how I teased Marius with his romance problems and irritated you?”  
“What are you talking about? You were asleep on that table over there.” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “Grantaire, you need to get home and rest. You‘re clearly intoxicated.”  
“No!” Grantaire snapped. “I’m thinking clearly. I am almost always thinking clearly. You just assume my mind is a drunken mess because I have the bottle in my hand. But that is not the case. If you were in the same place I was, you would be a drunkard too, Enjolras.” He was walking uncomfortably close to Enjolras who tried to keep his straight posture, but backed up against the wall, confused and slightly fearful. “Do you remember anything at all? Do you remember the time I hugged you and you pushed me away, irritated? Do you remember the time I saved you from the barricade, only to have you die moments later? Do you remember how I came to die by your side when all was lost? Do you remember… smiling at me in your very last moments?” He leaned forward and began to sob into Enjolras’ chest. He knew in a moment he’d likely be pushed away but he didn’t care. It was hopeless and he knew that, but he still wanted more than anything else for Enjolras to see his true self and see how much he cares for him and how much he loves him. Because that’s the truth. He loves him more than anything, including life and happiness itself. And he had never been able to show it.   
“I love you. After all this time did you ever see that? Did you ever notice…?” His hands were now tangled in Enjolras’ coat. “I love you, Enjolras. More than anything.” They stood like that for a moment, Grantaire sobbing into Enjolras’ chest as Enjolras just stood there, unsure of what to do. Finally Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s shoulders and pulled him up.   
“Grantaire.” He said, staring at him intently. “I am sorry, but I do not recall any of these events. I think… you must be overtired, or something of that nature. And for your affections… I’m glad you care for me, Grantaire. Really. I thought you were here simply for the alcohol provided but… I am so happy you are here for me instead. I appreciate your affections and see you as a friend too. However-”  
“No! That‘s not what I mean!” Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ face in his hands. “I love you. Not as a friend. Not as a colleague. Not as an ally. I love you and I want to be with you. Don‘t you see that? I love you, Enjolras. I‘ve loved you from the very start.”  
“Grantaire, I-” Grantaire stepped forward and pressed his lips against Enjolras’. He shut his eyes and savored the taste of his sweet Apollo, then moved his hands down Enjolras’ body, eventually wrapping his arms around his waist. Who knew how long he had dreamed of this moment, of kissing the soft lips of Enjolras? Late at night when he was wide awake with worry, or sometimes when he was alone and half-asleep with liquor he’d dream about it; he’d dream about the happiness he’d have if they could be together. Grantaire wanted Enjolras more than anything in the whole world. He wanted to love him, to embrace him, to kiss him, to touch him. He wanted him. He trailed kisses down Enjolras’ neck, and bit down on the soft skin gently.   
“G…Grantaire…” Enjolras moaned softly. Enjolras’ hands made their way into Grantaire’s hair and tugged gently. “Stop!” He suddenly pushed Grantaire off of him. Grantaire fell to the floor and looked up at Enjolras. His face was beet-red, his hair was a mess and his pale neck had a few red marks.   
“Grantaire, what was that?!” Enjolras asked sternly. Grantaire forgot just who it was he had fallen in love with. Enjolras, the marble lover of liberty, the walking angel on this earth, a shining man of virtue who cared more for the troubles of society and people that were worse off than him than he cared for himself. He had likely never kissed anyone before, especially a man and especially a man like Grantaire.   
“I…” Grantaire wasn’t sure what to say. He had been longing to kiss Enjolras for as long as he could remember, but never before had he planned on acting on it. His emotions got in the way and now this.  
“Grantaire, I do not have time to love you. My heart belongs to France and the revolution, and that‘s it.” He pulled up his collar high enough to cover the marks Grantaire had left. “Please, don‘t do anything like that again. I have a revolution to start and if the only reason you are here is because you wish to do… that to me, then you are of no use. Either stay to help or leave.”  
“Did you feel anything?” Grantaire asked. “Anything at all?”  
“Good night, Grantaire.” Enjolras stormed out of the room.  
 _What have I done?_ Grantaire thought. _What have I done? Why the hell did I do that? If there was even a chance that he liked me before there’s not a chance that he likes me now. Why the hell did I do that? He cares for revolution, not you. He cares for France, not you. You’ve ruined it this time. There’s no way he’ll be happy this time, not that he’s been dirtied by the likes of you._  
Grantaire sat back down at the table and opened up another bottle. _All that’s left now is to wait for death tomorrow. Then I can start over again. And maybe next time I won't mess up._  He drank until he found himself pulled into sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Finals and prom and blah blah blah

Grantaire awoke with someone shaking him.   
“Off your ass, it‘s starting!” It was Marius. It seems he had slept the morning away and had missed Lamarque’s funeral. Oh well, it’s not as if anyone expected him to show up. He got up and staggered to the door, his head throbbing. He tried to focus on helping, but couldn’t seem to move straight. The world around him was hazy and spinning, and he was unsure of what was going on. Eventually his hands found his way to some furniture, and soon he was stacking up pieces of junk just as everyone else was. As soon as it was done, he stumbled back to the café to wait out this hangover and this soon-to-be failed battle. He sat on the ground, all of the chairs used for the barricade and shut his eyes. He heard excited chatter as people passed him by, ignoring the pitiful drunkard.  
“Should we wake him up?” He heard a voice ask. It was likely Combeferre. _He cares far too much for others_ , Grantaire thought.   
“Leave him be.” It was Enjolras. “It‘s a miracle he‘s even here. Considering…”  
“Considering what?”  
“Nothing.” His voice sounded cold and bitter. Grantaire wished to say something back, but he knew that Enjolras had all the right to be angry with him. He had basically assaulted him, after all. The more Grantaire thought about that moment the more he regretted it. _Oh well_ , he thought. _Soon enough this world will be over. Soon enough I can start over once more._   
“Are you sure he‘s alright?” Combeferre asked. “He‘s not moving.”  
“I‘m sure he‘s just sleeping. We should leave him to it.” There was a pause. “Stop giving me that somber look. Fine.” Grantaire heard footsteps nearing and shut his eyes even tighter. _Don’t move an inch._ He felt Enjolras’ hand take his and in a moment his heart was beating a mile a minute. Enjolras pressed his fingers against Grantaire’s wrist and they stayed there for a moment, before retreating away. “He‘s fine. Like I said, he‘s fine.”  
“…Alright.” _Combeferre, you worry too much. Just leave me alone._   
“We have things to attend to. Let us go.” Grantaire heard Enjolras and Combeferre pick a few things up and head out. Grantaire opened his eyes and sighed. He was stupid for getting so flustered just from a single touch of Enjolras’ hand. He shook his head. It still hurt and the encounter with Enjolras hadn’t helped in the slightest. He heard the sound of yelling below; right about now Gavroche had revealed that Javert was a spy and at the moment he was being restrained. Grantaire knew very little about Javert other than the fact he was an inspector, but regardless he’d never forgive him for punching Enjolras so harshly. _That guy thinks he’s fighting for justice. How thick can you be? Punching a schoolboy and shooting them all down. Is that really justice?_ Grantaire got up and headed downstairs. _No matter,_ he thought. Soon enough that new fellow… Valjean, if he remembered correctly, would deal with him. When he got downstairs, he saw some of the other boys standing around the unconcious, now restrained Javert. Enjolras was heading outside, musket in hand, to the front line of the barricade. In the distance they could hear the sound of footsteps. They were in sync and they were approaching swiftly. The army was upon them. Soon, the first battle would begin. Around him, the boys looked worried and there was feverish and frantic whispers of fear and worry. Grantaire didn’t worry. This would be a quick battle with only one fatality.   
“Grantaire!” It was Joly. “Help pass those out!” He pointed to a pile of muskets then scurried away, likely trying to get more help. Grantaire obeyed, and handed guns out to people as they hurried past. One person fumbled with his and it clattered to the ground. Grantaire picked it up for him, and when he looked up he realized he knew that face. Éponine. Grantaire simply stared up at her, forgetting his place. In his drunken, selfish rage last night he had completely forgotten about her. Her face was sullen and somber, and her cheek was stained red where she had been struck. She showed no signs of recognition towards Grantaire, and simply looked impatient and rushed.  
“Please hand it over.” Éponine said.  
“Yes… yes, sorry, Éponine.” She glanced at him keenly at the sound of her name but said nothing. He handed the gun to her but before she go could leave, he grabbed her hand. She turned and stared at him expectantly, unsure of what he was going to say. He wasn‘t even sure what he was going to say. It‘s not like he could just talk to her about her depressing night or his life story or ask if she remembered. Grantaire knew Éponine well, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew him well too. She was the only person he had ever confided in. But as of now, there was no proof of their meeting and their friendship, and nothing he could say would change that. “Éponine.” He said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Knock them dead.” She nodded, then ran forward towards the barricade. Grantaire headed back inside. There was really no place for him in this battle. He knew Enjolras would be fine without him for now, so why bother? It’s not like anyone would notice his absence.   
Soon enough the battle ended, and everything was calming down. He listened as Marius embraced the fallen Éponine. He listened as everyone rushed to hide the ammunition so it wouldn’t be soiled by the rain. Eventually he heard Enjolras give his wary speech.  
“Everybody keep the faith. We are not alone… the people too must rise.” Enjolras said. _Silly, naïve Enjolras._ Grantaire thought. _How would you feel if you knew your death would be in vain? You wouldn’t believe me, of course. Who would believe the stupid drunkard that raved about the future? No one. Well, Éponine did. Or did she? She may have just played along with it out of kindness._ But even if that was the case, it made Grantaire happy nonetheless. Maybe in another world, he’d try befriending her again.   
He sat in that room alone for what felt like years. The other boys were down by the barricade, eager for the day about to come and the freedom they were about to win. _Idiots… foolish, stupid, naïve friends…_ There were still some bottles leftover. _Might as well_ , he figured. _I can sleep tonight off and when I awake, I can start over._  

* * *

Grantaire was a little off. When he awoke, it was to the sound of bullets. He had not slept the battle away as he had intended. Before him stood some soldiers. They had not noticed Grantaire; that or they had figured he was another nameless corpse.   
“Weren‘t there four of them?” One of the soldiers asked. Grantaire noticed that at their feet lay the dead bodies of Courfeyrac, Joly and Combeferre.   
“Last one must have gone upstairs. There may be more.”  
“Follow him!” The troops headed upstairs single file, all with guns in hand. Enjolras was up there. All alone. _I have to go help him… or be by his side, or something!_ He got up but stumbled, his legs felt limp and his head was pounding.   
“Ugh…” Grantaire moaned, clutching his head. That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.  
“One more step and you die.” Grantaire turned around. It was another soldier pointing his gun at him.  
“What?” Grantaire asked. “Are you going to shoot me down? I can assure you that one man, especially a man like myself, is not going to change France as we know it.”  
“Don‘t move.”  
“What? Are you afraid that sparing me is going to do something? Shoot me or not, the outcome will be the same: you will be victorious.” Grantaire reached out and lowered the gun. He backed away from the soldier to the staircase.   
Then a shot rang out.   
Grantaire stopped in his tracks and placed his hand on his stomach. _Oh._ Every time he had been shot in the past had caused immediate death. This was the first time he had been shot and lived to feel it. He shut his eyes and bent over, holding his arm against his stomach. He felt the blood seeping through his shirt onto his hand.  
 _No_ , he thought. _Not yet. I have to make it to him._ He stepped forward slowly, making his way to the stairs. That’s when he noticed how quiet the world had gotten. He couldn’t hear the bullets firing anymore. Was it because he had been shot? Did it numb his ears? No. The world had gone still around him. He noticed the soldier that had shot him was moving at an abnormally slow rate. It took him more than five seconds just to blink. Time was beginning to still. _Why?_  
“If I die… time reverses…” Grantaire said aloud. “So if I‘m injured… time stops.”  
Grantaire took this to his advantage. He knew he was going to die. He had been shot in the same spot as Éponine. Soon enough he would be dead. But now that time was still, he had to make it to Enjolras. He just had to.   
He walked up the stairs and filed into the room. All of the soldiers were there, their bayonets aimed at Enjolras. Enjolras was at the window, staring at the ground. His eyes were dead. His normal glow was gone. And this was to be expected. He had just witnessed almost all of his friends die. Grantaire had to do something. He had to put a smile on that face… or something.   
He made his way through the soldiers and stood next to Enjolras. I _f I touch him, will he…?_ Grantaire reached forward and grabbed Enjolras’ hand.   
Suddenly, Enjolras came to life. He looked at Grantaire, then back at the still soldiers.   
“Don‘t let go.” Grantaire said. “If you do, you will be stopped too.”  
“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked. “What‘s happening? I don‘t-” That’s when he noticed the blood seeping through Grantaire’s shirt. “Grantaire, you are wounded…”  
“Yeah…I am.” Grantaire tried to muster up a small smile. “I‘m surprised it matters to you, Enjolras. Someone like me…isn‘t worth much…” He laughed a little, but Enjolras stiffened.   
“Grantaire, no.” He said curtly. “I was irritated with you, yes. But you are not deserving of death.”  
“There is no need to lie to me right now, Enjolras. I‘m about dead anyways.”   
“I‘m not lying, Grantaire. I-” Grantaire began coughing and squeezed Enjolras’ hand tighter.   
“Come on… we need to get out of here.” He tried tugging on Enjolras, but he would not move.  
“You are in no condition to be moving.”  
“But we have to get away. You have to get away. Before everything returns to normal. Enjolras…” But Enjolras stood his ground and was unwavering. Grantaire just stared at him, pleading with his eyes. But Enjolras just shook his head and gave the drunkard a small smile.   
“I do not wish to leave as a coward. Everyone else is dead now, Grantaire. I saw it with my own eyes. Soon, you will be too, I‘m afraid. I don‘t want to be a leader of dead men. The sole, cowardly survivor of this failed barricade. I‘d much rather die with honor as a martyr than live as a coward.”  
“But… Enjolras…” Grantaire choked, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I want to save you…please!”   
“And I‘d much rather die beside my friends and loved ones than alone.” Enjolras continued, squeezing Grantaire’s hand.  
“But… I am no friend of yours.” Grantaire protested.   
“That‘s true. You don‘t see me as a friend, correct?”   
“I… uh…” Grantaire could feel his face getting warm. _That’s right. I confessed, didn’t I? That, and I basically attacked him._   
“It‘s alright. I‘ve noticed for awhile.” Grantaire just stared. “Do you think I was unaware? Do you think I did not notice those looks you gave me across the room or the way you would put the bottle down for just a moment to stare at me or speak to me, even if it was to annoy me? For awhile, it is true, I thought you were quite the nuisance. What is this man doing coming to all of my meetings just so he can drink? He does not wish to sabotage me, but on the other hand he does nothing to contribute. After awhile, I became fascinated with you. You were a puzzle; one I was determined to solve. So in those moments when I found a break from work, or when I was nearly drifting off into sleep, I would think about you and just wonder what in the world your motive was. But, a few days ago, I realized it. You and I are similar in a way. When we are passionate about something, we dedicate ourselves to it without any hesitation or holding back whatsoever. I spent my life making these meetings, planning this revolution, recruiting allies for my passion in life: to save our wondrous country from the malicious rule it is currently trapped in. So that‘s why you are here, Grantaire. You‘re here because the one thing you care more about than the anything else is me. That’s why you showed up. That’s why you were but a neutral party. Because you didn’t want to promote my ideals to endanger me, but you did not want to deny them to anger me. And that is why, despite the fact you have the chance to run, you are standing before me. Am I correct?” Grantaire just continued staring at him. He was right, but he didn’t expect it to be worded so articulately. A simple “you‘re in love with me” would have sufficed. He just nodded.   
“I do love you, Enjolras. That‘s the only thing that makes sense in my life anymore.”  
“And the only thing that made sense for me was fighting for freedom.” He paused and sighed. “And look how that turned out. Everyone died, save for us. The people did not rise…” Mustering all the strength he could, Grantaire walked forward and put his bloody hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.  
“There‘s still… next time.” He said, forcing a small smile. “You remember that day we stood outside General Lamarque‘s house protesting? There were all those people there. That crowd was huge! I could barely see you from where I was standing. Why were they all there, Enjolras? For you. All those people were there for you and your cause. Sure, they did not come tonight. They did not fight for their freedom tonight but-” Grantaire cringed. The pain in his stomach was unbearable. In a moment he’d likely be unable to stand anymore. “…but that does not mean they will never stand against the oppression. That‘s how people work. Push them too hard and they‘ll retaliate.” Grantaire collapsed to the floor, his hand still in Enjolras’. Enjolras knelt down beside him.  
“Since when were you the optimist?” Enjolras asked.   
“One of us has to be.” Grantaire lifted his hand to Enjolras’ face. “I‘m sorry for leaving you alone.”  
“Me too.” Enjolras gazed at him with worry in his eyes. They simply stared at each other in silence for a moment. “I‘m going to be killed any moment now, correct?” Enjolras asked, finally facing the soldiers.  
“I‘m afraid so.”  
“Well, I’ll die before my dream is reached.” Enjolras said sadly. “But I will believe in your words. I will believe that the people will rise sometime in the future. And I won‘t let you die without accomplishing your dream.” With that he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Grantaire’s. Grantaire stared back, eyes wide, unsure of what to do. He wanted to hold Enjolras, stroke his hair, anything, but he could hardly move. He just closed his eyes and savored the moment, savored the fact that this was really happening. Whether out of love or out of pity, Enjolras was kissing him. As Enjolras backed away, Grantaire felt himself smiling. Enjolras slowly let go of Grantaire's hand. As he watched Enjolras turn and face the soldiers, his sight went hazy and soon everything went dark.


	10. Heaven

When Grantaire awoke, he was not in the ABC café. He found himself in that strange, white space that he awoke in all those times ago.  
“Congratulations. You finally did it.” The same voice said.  
“Really?” Grantaire asked. It sounded more like a statement than an actual question.  
“You sound doubtful.”  
“Of course I‘m doubtful.” Grantaire said. “He died again. His revolution failed, all of his friends died, and his cause was lost again. What could he have possibly been happy about?”  
“Weren‘t you happy?”  
“Yes… yes, I was. But his happiness is far different from mine.”  
“You would be surprised how similar the two of you are.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“What was Enjolras in love with, Grantaire?”  
“The revolution, of course.” Grantaire answered. “You‘re basically asking me what color the sky is.”  
“He loved you, too.” Grantaire was going to say something, but lost his train of thought at that.  
“What could you possibly have to gain from joking?” Grantaire asked. “I‘m dead.”  
“It is no joke.” The voice paused. “Enjolras is a serious man. Very serious, especially considering his age. Everyone else in your little barricade had some other quirk or distraction that kept them from being dedicated to the revolution whole-heartedly. Everyone except Enjolras. He was completely dedicated to the revolution and his cause in both heart and mind.”  
“Tell me something I don‘t know.”  
“To him, everything came after the cause. His friends‘ needs, his own needs and everything. So of course he wouldn‘t say a word to you. But that doesn‘t mean he didn‘t love you.”  
“Why in the world would he love someone like me?”  
“Who knows? Humans are strange indeed. Oftentimes, opposites tend to attract. The penniless daughter of thieves, Éponine, fell in love with the rich son of the upper-class, Marius. It happens more often than you’d think.”  
“But Enjolras is so… serious. I mean, he hates me, does he not?”  
“Of course not. If he hated you, I wouldn‘t have given you the opportunity to try this at all.”  
“What?”  
“You loved Enjolras and Enjolras, though it would have taken him years to admit it, had an interest in you as well. Both of you died before the chance was given, so I let you go back and try again.”  
“Why me? Why, out of all of the suffering souls that died lives far too young, did you choose me?”  
“Because you believed in nothing, save for Enjolras. You didn‘t believe in hope, miracles, love and even God.”  
“So what? You‘re the devil, so what should you care?”  
“Did I ever say that‘s who I was?”  
“Last time I checked, the devil‘s the only one that does those ‘sell your soul’ deals.”  
“That was all a trick, my son.”  
“Don‘t call me that.”  
“But it‘s the truth. I altered time and space all for you to believe, Grantaire.”  
“Why?”  
“Because to love another person is to see the face of God.”  
“So you‘re god?” Grantaire asked. The entire situation seemed completely unreal, but there was no point in arguing at this point. “Are you going to take me to hell now?”  
“Of course not. I tricked you is all and you proved your worth. From the start I told you your soul was doomed, but you still decided to go back and save Enjolras at all costs despite. You could have turned around and accepted your fate, but you did not. And along the way, you did so much more. You suffered more than most men will in their entire lifetimes, but you were unselfish. Your goal was Enjolras, yes, but along the way you assisted Éponine as well. You fought for others, died for others and suffered for others. You may think you are but a simple drunkard but the fact of the matter is you are nothing short of a good man, worthy of a place in heaven.”  
“So… all of that so I would believe in you?” Grantaire laughed. “What a vain God you are.”  
“That may be so. But at least it was for some worth. But we have talked enough for now. It’s time for you to go.” Before Grantaire could argue, he was blinded by a white light. 

* * *

 

“Good day, Grantaire.” When Grantaire opened his eyes, he found himself slumped against a wall. He looked around. He was in a regular Paris street. But everything seemed lighter. The streets were cleaner, the sky brighter, and the people that walked the streets seemed clean, calm and happy. There were no starving children, no sad beggars and no dirty drunkards milling about. Before him stood Éponine. She was no longer in her rags, but instead wore a plain dress with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. Her face was free of dirt or stains and was smiling at him.  
“Éponine?” Grantaire asked.  
“Yes. I look different, don‘t I?”  
“You look better. Where am I?” He asked.  
“This is heaven.” She said. “Or paradise. Whichever you prefer.”  
“Are you serious? …I was expecting more grandeur.”  
“Most people were. But in all honesty, what would you do in a giant mansion filled with stacks upon stacks of gold? Having everything in the world would get boring really quickly. This is a moderation. Not too much grandeur, but everything you need to be happy. A soft bed to sleep in, clean clothes to wear, hot food to eat... It‘s good enough, I suppose. It‘d be perfect if Marius was here… no, that’s cruel of me to say.”  
“It is nothing but the truth.” Grantaire said. “Wait! Enjolras… is he here?”  
“Of course he is. I‘m just here to lead you in.”  
“Well, thank you.” She gave him a hand and helped him off his feet. “Why you? Of all people, why are you leading me here? In fact, how do you even know who I am?”  
“I know more than a peasant girl should. But I do know you. You‘re the kindly gentleman that handed me the gun last night.”  
“Oh… right…”  
“I‘m joking. Not only is this the place of paradise, but also the place of knowledge.” She said. “So, anytime you interacted closely with another person, regardless of which time it was, it will be remembered. So I remember you, Grantaire. I remember how you offered me a drink when I was alone in the alley, how you listened to my life story and I did the same for you. Though to be honest…”  
“You didn‘t believe me.”  
“I‘m afraid so.” She replied. “I‘m sorry.”  
“What for? I would not have believed me either.”  
“Yes, but now I see it was the truth. Regardless, we became friends. And it was one of the few happy moments near the end of my life. So I’m the one to lead you through heaven because I’m the last person you truly confided in; the last person you could truly call a friend. If you had been the one to fall first, our roles would likely be switched.” She held out her hand. “Now come. I will take you to him.”  
He took her hand and followed her through the bright city he had last seen as dismal. All around he saw people he faintly knew; poor families, beggars and children were clothed, warm and content. But he did not see any of his friends, any members of the failed revolution around. He wasn’t too worried however; they were all great men, and would likely all be here. Wherever Éponine was taking him was likely where they were. Eventually, he heard the sound of chanting growing nearer. The same chanting that took place at Lamarque’s funeral. He and Éponine walked through one last covered alleyway and found themselves in the very same square where Lamarque’s funeral had taken place. But instead of an empty square, a gigantic barricade was built. It was at least ten times bigger than the one that they had all died fighting for. There were no soldiers around that were attacking. There were no gunshots being fired. There were no fights to be seen. Only the sound of chanting. The people were united in death, for at least now they were all equal and free. They would see a brighter tomorrow come, even if it was in death.  
“This is where I leave you.” Éponine said, letting go of Grantaire’s hand. She was near the very top of the barricade, but there was still several more feet to go before they’d reach the top.  
“Why?” Grantaire asked.  
“Because he‘s waiting for you. Besides I…” She turned and glanced at a smiling Gavroche, who was but a few feet away. “I‘d like to stay by my brother for now.”  
“I understand. We‘ll see each other soon, yes?”  
“Of course. We have all the time in the world.” Grantaire turned and climbed to the top of the barricade. Enjolras was there, looking just as perfect as ever. There were no bullet holes or blood staining his beautiful face or his bright clothes. In his hand was the bright red flag that he had died with. He stopped chanting at Grantaire’s entrance and stared at him intently.  
“You‘re late.” Enjolras said curtly. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at that. He truly was the same old Enjolras.  
“What else did you expect?” Grantaire asked. “May I join you? I mean, if not, that‘s alright. I can take my place wherever you‘d prefer.” Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by his wrist and pulled him to his side.  
“I‘d like to apologize to you, Grantaire.” He said solemnly.  
“What? No. It is I who should be sorry. I mean, I basically attacked you and-”  
“I forgive you for that. Now let me speak.” He grabbed both of Grantaire’s hands and stared at him. “I owe you an apology Grantaire. I have been brutally unkind towards you. I planned to change this after the land was freed, but… I never did get the opportunity. I insulted you multiple times. Calling you a lazy drunkard-”  
“But that is what I am.” Grantaire interrupted.  
“No. You are far more than that. All this time, Grantaire. All this time I considered you to be lazy and a nuisance. But you were acting that way in an attempt to save me from my fate. And I resisted you every time. I will be honest, Grantaire. The revolution, the cause, all of that is more important to me than any man out there. This includes both you and myself. I would have proffered to die for the cause than to die a lonely coward.”  
“Oh, I know.”  
“But… I do need to thank you. All of this time, everything you did was for me. You worked you soul and mind to the breaking point all in an attempt to save me. Who knows the countless wounds inflicted on your heart from all of this? Who knows how many times you had to suffer alone?”  
“So, you remember?” Grantaire asked. “You remember all of the different times?”  
“Every last one. I was too preoccupied to even notice your efforts or care. And that… was cruel of me. But the past is the past and now, I would like to formally thank you, Grantaire. For all of your efforts, tears and acts that were all solely for me. And I‘m sorry you never saw true success.”  
“I wished to find a way for you to be happy. I just did not think it would be in death. Are you… happy?”  
“Am I?” Enjolras asked. He turned and looked over the barricade at the bright, beautiful country that he loved. “I think so. What about you?”  
“As long as you‘re by my side to scold me, I am alright.”  
“And I need you to irritate me, Grantaire.” He leaned forward and gave Grantaire a kiss on the cheek.  
“Who would have thought? The cynic and the leader, hand in hand in heaven?”  
“Not I. But… it‘s a nice change from the seriousness of life. Now, will you join me in this everlasting crusade?”  
“Of course, my dear Enjolras.” They stood together and chanted with the crowd, singing songs of brotherhood, happiness and freedom. As Grantaire stood with his hand tightly intertwined with Enjolras’, he realized something remarkable:  
He had no need for a drink whatsoever.


End file.
